


Mazes Of The Mind

by telperion_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Mind Rape, Post-Movie(s), Rescue, Telepathy, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik wakes up one day feeling like something is wrong.  Can he work out what it is, and what Charles might be hiding from him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-canon AU in which Shaw wasn't defeated in Cuba and escaped, and Erik stayed with Charles and the others.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik wakes up feeling like he’s forgotten something very important, like there’s something _absolutely vital_ he should doing right now.

Erik wakes up feeling like he’s forgotten something very important, like there’s something _absolutely vital_ he should doing right now.

He stares at the ceiling for a few moments, but no revelation occurs, although he can’t quite rid himself of the vague unsettledness that surrounds him.

In an effort to lay it to rest he slides out of bed and moves to the window, absurdly hoping that he might see some kind of clue when he pushes aside the drapes.

Instead, all he sees is Charles ( _something about Charles?_ ), walking slowly along the gravel path in front of the house.

The movement at Erik’s window must have caught Charles’ attention, because after only a couple of seconds Charles looks up, spots Erik, and gives him a small wave.

Erik lifts a hand in return, and then lets the drapes drop.

Something still feels off.

*~*~*~*~*

When he enters the kitchen he finds Raven seated at the table, flicking through a magazine, a plateful of crumbs betraying that she has already eaten breakfast.

She is, however, still wearing her pyjamas, and Erik is briefly grateful that at least one member of the Xavier family knows something about how to be lazy at the weekends.

“I see Charles is already thoroughly up and about,” Erik observes.

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” replies Raven, her mouth pursing in distaste. “I still fail to understand how anyone can be that up and at ‘em at this time on a Saturday. And he doesn’t even need coffee to do it. It’s not natural!”

 _“Oh god, give me coffee now. I am literally going to die if I don’t get a caffeine hit in the next ten seconds.”_

The flash of memory is vivid and unmistakeable, and Erik frowns a little, the recollection completely at odds with Raven’s words.

Raven notices. “Something the matter?” she asks, clearly unsuspecting.

Erik tries once more to shake his unsettled feeling away. “No, nothing,” he tells her. “Just need a dose of caffeine myself, I think.”

He makes a beeline for the coffee pot.

(The next morning, Charles barely sets foot in the kitchen before he’s hanging over the coffee pot, muttering imprecations at it for not brewing fast enough, and once again making melodramatic proclamations about his imminent death unless he ingests some caffeine right now, damn it.

Raven doesn’t appear to notice anything out of the ordinary.)

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after he’s breakfasted and caffeinated, Erik makes his way outside. He finds Charles exactly where he’d seen him earlier, wandering slowly up and down the gravel under the myriad windows of the mansion’s east front.

Charles smiles when Erik joins him, a little absently, but no less genuine for all that.

“Good morning, my friend.”

“Thinking deep thoughts, Charles?” Erik teases gently.

Something flits across Charles’ face – Erik might almost call it sadness, if he’d enough time to analyse it – but then he smiles again.

“Something like that.”

“A little early, isn’t it?”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Two heads are better than one, they say.”

“They are,” Charles agrees. But he still doesn’t choose to enlighten Erik as to the subject of his ‘deep’ thoughts, and instead steers the conversation on to lighter matters – how Erik slept, the day’s training regimen, and whether the younger mutants will in fact eat them out of house and home before the week is out.

They walk, conversing quietly, for some while, until Erik sees something, quite out of the blue.

A figure, dressed all in white, just disappearing around the corner of the house.

He’s running before he even realises he’s started moving, pelting along the gravel as he shouts “Hey, you!” and “Stop!” and “Stop _right now!_ ”

But when he reaches the point where the figure had vanished, and looks along the north front, there is no one there, nowhere to hide, and no possible way anyone could have made it to the trees on the other side of the lawn in time.

“Erik.” Charles jogs up behind him, looking perplexed and worried in equal measure. “What is it?”

“I thought I saw someone,” replies Erik, his own confusion rising. “Didn’t you see them?”

“I saw no one,” says Charles. “Who did you see?”

“I…I don’t know.” But Erik does know, as impossible as the idea is.

Charles looks around them, at the empty grounds bathed in morning sunshine. “There’s no one here,” he says.

“I know that!” Erik snaps, and then reins himself in with difficulty. “A trick of the light perhaps,” he offers, not believing his own words. “Or not enough sleep last night.”

But Charles still looks faintly worried, and Erik turns away from the concern that could too easily become pity.

*~*~*~*~*

 _“You’re being too crude. We can’t afford mistakes.”_

 _“Would you like to take over? Have patience. I’m learning.”_

It’s by no means the strangest or most disturbing dream Erik’s ever had. He rolls over in bed, and when he wakes in the morning he’s forgotten all about it.

*~*~*~*~*

The days pass, and although the unsettled feeling doesn’t leave him, Erik puts it down to the fact that Shaw and his minions are still at large, and learns to ignore it, more or less. He’s been tense and on edge for most of his adult life, and he’s not about to start letting it get to him now.

He finds himself searching out Charles’ company, however, compelled by a strange urge to keep an eye on the other man. Charles would scoff at the idea that he needs protection, and Erik isn’t sure that that’s what he’s doing, precisely. He’s just finding it hard to let Charles out of his sight at the moment.

No one comments, apart from Raven’s sarcastic mutterings about being _joined at the hip_ , but why should they? Erik and Charles have done nothing but orbit around each other since the day they met, and this is no different.

And Charles always seems to welcome Erik’s company, notwithstanding the rare instances that Erik again thinks he glimpses that sadness in Charles’ face before Charles can offer up his pleased smile and cheerful hellos.

They talk of everything and nothing, play countless games of chess, drink copious amounts of alcohol (usually after the children have gone to bed), and yet the whole time Erik feels like they are dancing around something. That Charles is avoiding something that Erik should be confronting him about, if only he knew what it was.

“Why do we do this?” Erik asks abruptly one evening, after three games of chess and perhaps twice as many brandies. The alcohol has brought a flush to Charles’ cheeks, but his hands are perfectly steady as he moves the chess pieces. Erik himself feels perfectly sober. He would have been dead long ago if he’d allowed himself to become intoxicated so easily.

“Play chess?” Charles’ eyebrows have drawn together in a small frown, unsure what Erik is asking him. “It hones the mind, I suppose. Improves strategising, etcetera.”

“Wait,” Erik elaborates, sitting back from the chessboard and giving Charles a challenging look. “Why do we _wait?_ Shaw is still out there, recovering, regrouping, and we cower behind these walls, _allowing_ him to do it. We should strike now, while he is weak.”

Charles’ frown deepens at his words, and in truth, Erik is hardly sure why he’s saying them. He’d seen firsthand how strong Shaw had become on that beach, how close he’d come to destroying them all. He knows that a weakened Shaw is still impossibly dangerous, and he knows what he’s advocating is folly.

But it is as if his thoughts are not his own. He cannot help himself, it seems. Cannot help arguing with Charles, even when there is no necessity for an argument in the first place.

“No,” says Charles eventually. “We can’t. Shaw is not the only one who needs to regroup. Have you forgotten, Erik? Forgotten how long it took Raven and the others to recover from that day?” He continues before Erik has a chance to respond. “I blame myself. I should never have taken them there. I should never have let them get involved. They’re still children, for all they’d like to convince us otherwise. I won’t put them in that kind of danger again. Not until they’re…”

“Ready?” Erik sneers, and again, it’s like he can’t help saying it. “As you’ve just said, Charles, they’re _children_. It’ll be years before they’re ready – always assuming you’re _ever_ willing to stop coddling them.”

“Erik…”

“And in the meantime we’re just going to pretend that this place is a safe haven, I suppose? That these walls will somehow magically protect us, from a man who can wield energy more destructive than most people can imagine? What happens when he finds us, Charles? What then?”

“He…won’t find…”

Charles suddenly seems to be having difficulty breathing, his face screwed up against some kind of pain. All thoughts of their argument fly from Erik’s mind as he jumps up and goes to Charles, leaning over him in his chair.

“Charles? Charles, what is it? What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing, my friend. Just a momentary…it’s nothing.”

Erik thinks that Charles would sound a whole lot more convincing if he wasn’t speaking through gritted teeth.

“You’re a terrible liar, Charles,” he says. “Stop trying to fob me off.”

“No, really…” Charles insists.

And then, before Erik can protest any more, Charles reaches up and catches Erik by the shoulders, drawing him down so he can kiss him.

Erik freezes, more in surprise than anything else, and it is long moments before he realises that his inactivity hasn’t made Charles pull back, but that Charles is instead murmuring something against his lips.

“Please, Erik, let me, you _must_ let me, please…”

Erik silences him by bringing his hands up to cup Charles’ face, and kissing him back. His body doesn’t like the awkward angle at all, and he is still wondering how they got from anger and argument to _this_ , but neither of those things will stop him.

Truth be told, the desperation in Charles’ pleading voice had frightened him, just a little. He has no idea why this is so dreadfully important to Charles right _now_ , and god knows, he’s not doing this just because Charles begged him to, but all the same, stopping Charles sounding like that had suddenly become imperative.

But when Charles tries to pull him even closer, and Erik stumbles and nearly tips over the arm of the chair straight into Charles’ lap, they have to break apart. Charles is smiling now, laughing almost (although he can’t quite disguise the relief in his eyes), and Erik finds himself thinking that maybe ending up in Charles’ lap wouldn’t have been such a bad thing after all.

Then he shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, because he’s never had such a stupid, besotted thought in his life, and he’s not about to start now.

“Perhaps we should move this somewhere a little more comfortable?” Charles says, before Erik can speak.

Erik hauls Charles out of his chair and starts crowding him towards the door of the study, the handle turning and the door flying open apparently of their own volition. “I think that sounds like a very good idea,” he growls.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he might be wondering why this is happening now, when they’ve been dancing around each other so long. He might be wondering if this is really the reason that he’s been unable to keep away from Charles lately. He might be wondering why, despite the way Charles is tugging him along, and despite the way he is going quite willingly, there is still something niggling at him. Something that doesn’t quite fit.

But Erik will wait until later to pay attention to those wonderings, because right now Charles is dragging him into his bedroom, and pulling him close to kiss him again, as his hands go to work on Erik’s belt.

Erik laughs in his throat, and gives Charles a gentle push, separating them just a little. “Let me,” he says, and everything made of metal on both of them unzips, unbuckles and unbuttons until there are only a few things left to be shed by hand and they are tumbling on to the bed together, both hissing at the skin-on-skin contact.

After that there’s a distinct lack of patience and finesse as they push and slide against each other, one of Erik’s hands curling around both their cocks while the other fists itself in Charles’ hair and holds him in place so Erik can bite and suck at the soft skin of his throat. Charles’ hands are grabbing at Erik, his fingernails digging into the skin of Erik’s back as he holds on and gasps until he spills between them, the added slickness smoothing Erik’s movements until he comes, rutting desperately against Charles, hard enough to blast every thought, worry and wondering right out of his head.

*~*~*~*~*

When Erik wakes up in the morning, Charles is gone.

It takes Erik’s brain a moment to process that. And when he does he frowns a little and sits up in bed, hand stretching out to feel the cool sheets that indicate Charles has been absent for a while.

“Charles?” he calls softly, and then again with his mind. _Charles?_

No answer. Charles is not in the bedroom. Nor is he in the bathroom, his study, the kitchen, or any of the three sitting rooms that Erik tries.

He is nowhere.

It’s not until Erik knocks on Raven’s door that he realises that she’s gone too. As are Hank, and Alex, and Sean.

Everyone is gone. The mansion is completely empty.

Well, _nearly_ completely empty. Because when he runs back into Charles’ bedroom, panicking in way he’s fairly sure he’s never panicked before, he finds Sebastian Shaw sitting on the bed, right on the spot where Charles should have been when Erik woke up.

Shaw is silent, but his smile speaks volumes.

Erik lunges for him…

…and his eyes fly open just as his hands close around Shaw’s neck.

 _Erik?_ “Erik, are you with me?”

Charles. Charles is _here_.

“I think I was dreaming,” Erik croaks out, aware that he is panting heavily, and that his legs are completely tangled up in the sheets.

“Not a good one, I take it?” Charles’ voice sounds strained.

“Most definitely not.”

“That must explain why you just tried to strangle me, then.”

“ _What?_ ” Erik’s head snaps round fast enough to make his neck muscles protest loudly.

The expression on Charles’ face is as strained as his voice was, and one of his hands is fluttering in front of his throat, as if to ward something away.

“You didn’t quite manage it, obviously,” Charles adds, obviously forcing some levity into his tone. “Actually, you didn’t really come anywhere close.”

Erik can see that the skin of Charles’ neck appears unmarked, unbruised, but that doesn’t stop the guilt. “Charles, I’m…”

Charles shakes his head slightly. “I’m guessing it wasn’t actually me you were trying to get hold of in your dream?” he asks. “Because if it was, I think I’m going to be dreadfully insulted about the comment on my bedroom performance.”

He grins, a little weakly, but Erik can’t find it in him to smile at the moment.

“It was Shaw,” he admits. “He was _here_ , and everyone else was gone. _You_ were gone.”

“Thank goodness it was just a dream, then,” replies Charles lightly, but his face is still strained, and just like that Erik’s worry comes rushing back.

But before he can quiz Charles the other man is sliding out of bed and heading in the direction of the bathroom. “I’m still here, Erik,” he says over his shoulder. “And so are the others.” He raises his fingers to his temple. “Sean is downstairs watching cartoons, if you can believe that. I didn’t think teenagers got up before midday at the weekends.”

He pushes the bathroom door almost closed behind him, and Erik has to fight the urge to nudge it open again by its metal door handle.

It was just a dream. That’s all.

*~*~*~*~*

“Morning, Erik,” Raven greets him breezily, when he finally makes it downstairs sometime later.

Charles had returned to bed after his trip to the bathroom, gone no more than five minutes, but Erik’s dream had thoroughly broken any mood they might have created the previous night, and although Erik was enjoying the morning kisses in an abstract kind of way, it hadn’t taken Charles long to realise that his heart wasn’t really in it. That had earned him a fond, indulgent look and a soft “We’ll talk later,” as Charles had vacated the bed for a second time, got dressed, and left Erik to his thoughts.

He had finally been driven from the bed himself by his own need to visit the bathroom, and his grumbling stomach.

But now he’s in the kitchen he finds that he’s not really all that hungry, and instead slumps into a chair opposite Raven.

“Morning,” he mutters in reply. And then, before he can really stop himself, he asks, “Did you have any strange dreams last night?”

“Define strange,” Raven says, smiling slightly.

“I don’t know, just…strange,” Erik repeats, unwilling to go into details with her.

“Well, I did dream that the fashion world had decided that blue skin was the next big thing, and that everyone started dyeing themselves cerulean and azure, but I don’t think that’s what you meant, is it?”

“Not really,” Erik tells her. Then he frowns. “You’re not blue.”

“A for observation,” Raven replies wryly. “And before coffee, too.”

“But, shouldn’t you be?” Erik is confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you’d decided that you weren’t going to hide the real you any more. That this,” Erik gestures to the familiar pretty blond form Raven is currently wearing, “wasn’t what you wanted now.”

“Oh.” Raven looks down at herself, a strange look crossing her face briefly. “Just force of habit, I suppose.”

Before his eyes she flickers and changes, blue skin emerging under her clothes and her hair turning a bright shade of red. “Better?”

“Much,” Erik replies, but he is still frowning.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles pretends he can’t feel the weight of Erik’s expectant look for exactly thirty-seven seconds before he lifts his eyes from his book. “Yes, Erik?” he asks mildly.

Erik moves from the doorway where he’s been waiting, determined to make Charles acknowledge him, and flings himself into his usual chair, the one he normally occupies when they play chess.

There is no chessboard set up at the moment – Charles must have tidied it away this morning, Erik realises. There was certainly no opportunity to do it last night. But nonetheless he looks pointedly at Charles’ customary seat opposite him, and after a moment Charles rises from the chair behind his desk and re-seats himself where Erik wants him.

However, when Erik doesn’t say anything, he raises a querying eyebrow, and asks again, “Yes?”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” Erik responds, stubborn.

Now Charles looks faintly amused. “Don’t you think we need to?” he says. “We did take rather a momentous step.”

Erik is suddenly visited by the memory of Charles last night, sitting in that very chair, pulling Erik to him, desperate and slightly frantic. And the pain, that odd pain that had caused Erik to go to him in the first place…

“Is there something going on I should know about, Charles?” he asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my friend,” Charles replies.

“You really _are_ a terrible liar,” Erik tells him bluntly.

Charles looks uncomfortable for a moment. He is generally an honest person – almost pathologically so. In fact, he may be the most honest person Erik’s ever met, by quite some distance.

“Do you trust me, Erik?”

“What? Of course, you know I do.” Erik is surprised by the question.

“Than will you trust me when I tell you that yes, there is something going on, but I can’t tell you what it is? Yet.”

He hides the pain better this time – only a tightening of the skin around his eyes betrays him – but Erik sees it anyway.

“Charles?” He pushes himself out of his chair and drops to his knees in front of Charles. “Charles, what is it?”

But Charles puts out a hand, as if to ward him off. “Trust me, Erik,” he says. “Please?”

Erik hesitates for a moment, torn between his trust and his need to know, to _help_ , but he eventually nods. “All right.”

“Thank you.” Charles smiles down at him weakly, and now his hand comes up to caress the side of Erik’s face. “Thank you,” he says again.

Erik leans into the touch a little. “No attempt to distract me this time, then?” he asks, attempting to lighten the mood. “Not that it wasn’t a very pleasant distraction last night.”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Damn, busted,” he exclaims.

But Erik doesn’t miss the shadow that crosses his face, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from asking more questions. He’d told Charles that he trusted him, and he does. He’ll wait, if he has to.

But he won’t wait forever.

*~*~*~*~*

Erik can’t move.

He looks down and discovers the reason for it – thick ropes binding him wrist and ankle to a chair. A _wooden_ chair.

There’s nothing for him to work with, nothing to help him get free.

 _Erik._

His head snaps up so sharply he almost gives himself whiplash, and he stares in horror at Charles, restrained in a far more sophisticated manner on what looks like a vertical operating table. He looks unconscious, and did Erik imagine that tiny brush against his mind?

Then someone chuckles, and Erik can’t think how he didn’t notice them before. Emma Frost and Shaw standing on either side of Charles, each with a hand on one of his shoulders, the gestures almost proprietary in a way that makes Erik struggle futilely against his bonds.

Shaw chuckles again, and his grip on Charles’ shoulder tightens. Charles’ eyelids flicker – it’s his only response, but it’s enough for Erik to deduce that the touch is causing Charles pain, and as much as he wants to be cool and collected, as much as he doesn’t want to give Shaw the satisfaction, he starts to struggle again, violently enough that the chair begins to tilt…

Erik is bolt upright before he even really realises he’s awake. Beside him, Charles stirs groggily (Erik had allowed himself to be distracted again, after all, and something in him is beginning to realise that this is _exactly_ what it is – a distraction), and then reaches for him when he takes in Erik’s state.

“Erik?” he asks, confusion clear in his sleepy features. “What’s the matter? Was it another bad dream?”

But Erik is having none of it. “Charles,” he says, attempting icy calm despite his racing heart and shallow, fast breaths, “please would you tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?”

Charles wakes up properly at that, and sits up beside Erik. “What happened to trusting me?” he responds calmly.

He reaches again, and this time his fingers settle on Erik’s arm.

Erik shakes them off like they’re burning him, and bolts from the bed. “ _Enough_ , Charles!” he snaps. “I want to know what’s going on, _right now_.”

Because he knows that what he just experienced was no dream. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he _does_.

“And I told you that I can’t tell you yet,” Charles replies. “ _Please_ , Erik…”

His eyelids flutter, like they had in the dream, and while part of Erik wants to go to him, the bigger part still wants to know what the hell is happening.

“Charles…” he warns.

“I _can’t_ ,” Charles gasps, his hands going to his head, clutching at his temples.

It’s almost instinctive, although Erik doesn’t really know what it’s going to accomplish at this point. There’s no one else here but Charles, no visible enemy. But he can’t help it, it’s what he always does.

It’s several seconds, however, before he realises nothing’s happening. There is metal everywhere in this room – in the light fittings, the furniture, the bits and pieces on the tables beside the bed – but _none_ of it is moving. None of it is responding to him.

And just like that Erik realises that he can’t remember the last time _anything_ metal responded to him. When was the last time he even tried to use his powers? When was the last time he even _thought_ about using them?

“What have you done to me?” Erik grates out, flinging the question at Charles because there is no one else here to ask.

But Charles either doesn’t hear him or can’t answer. He’s bowed over in pain now, but Erik can’t let that distract him. He refuses to be distracted _again_.

“What have you done to me?!” he shouts this time, certain that _someone_ else must be listening.

Then a wave of dizzying vertigo sweeps over him, and the last thing he sees before everything goes black is the floor rushing up to meet him.

*~*~*~*~*

When Erik comes to, it could be seconds or hours later. But straight away he knows three things.

He knows he is once more bound to a wooden chair.

He knows that if he raises his head he’ll see Charles restrained opposite him.

And he knows that this _definitely_ isn’t a dream.

This is real.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What have you done to him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to torture and rape.

“Erik.”

He knows that voice ( _hates_ it), but he isn’t going to respond, not yet. Perhaps he can pretend he’s still unconscious.

“Erik, I’m afraid that isn’t going work on us.”

But he’s determined to remain still, right up until the moment that a stab of pain through his skull makes him gasp and jerk upright.

“Oh, Erik…” Shaw tuts at him like a disappointed headmaster. He might as well be wagging a reproving finger. “Must we play these games?”

But Erik is too busy noticing something _very_ important to even think about replying.

Shaw isn’t wearing his helmet.

His head is unprotected, and he is in the same room as Charles (Charles who is restrained opposite him, as Erik had known he would be, and whom Erik is trying not to look at, not yet). How is this possible? Yes, Charles is unconscious, and yes, Emma Frost is also here (someone else Erik isn’t looking at, but that’s because she’s by far the least important person here, in Erik’s opinion anyway), but it seems a risky strategy, to say the least.

Another stab of pain indicates that perhaps he should pay a _little_ more attention to Frost, and Erik recognises it now as bearing the hallmark of her telepathic cattle prod.

“Careful, my dear,” Shaw warns mildly, but Erik isn’t fooled for a moment that the man is actually concerned for his welfare.

Frost merely looks bored.

Erik reaches out surreptitiously. His chair might be wooden and the ropes made of hemp, but there is enough metal in this room to do plenty of damage – maybe even _enough_ damage.

It’s like a shock of icy water when once again, nothing happens. He can feel the metal, like a distant hum, but nothing moves. Not a single screw so much as quivers.

Involuntarily, his eyes finally snap to Shaw’s face. How can this be? He can perhaps understand how, in his dream (vision? hallucination?), metal wouldn’t respond to him. He has the horrible suspicion that Emma Frost, while not as strong as Charles, could make Erik’s mind believe that.

But here, in the real world? What the hell is going on?

Shaw, of course, sees the direction that Erik’s thoughts have taken immediately (a man doesn’t need to be a telepath when he’s responsible for moulding Erik into what he is today, after all).

“Really, Erik,” he says. “Do you think me stupid? Or reckless? Did you think I wouldn’t take precautions to _neuter_ you?”

“How?” Erik asks unwillingly. “How are you doing this?”

“You mean you haven’t noticed the new addition to your wardrobe?”

Erik looks down at himself. He’s wearing his blue and yellow jumpsuit (that means something, doesn’t it? He’s still struggling to remember what’s happened – the mansion felt so _real_ \- real enough that he’s having trouble adjusting now), but nothing strikes him as out of ordinary with it. Then he realises that it is partially unzipped at the top. He tilts his head slightly from side to side, testing, and realises that there is something around his throat. Something that feels like metal, but can’t be.

“It’s made out of the same material as the helmet,” Shaw tells him, seemingly unable to stop himself from showing off his cleverness. “Refined, of course. Made _better_. More _adaptable_.”

The collar (there’s no other word for it), is suppressing his powers, Erik realises. Not neutralising them completely – he can still _feel_ the metal, after all – but ensuring that he can’t actually wield them.

Neutered is the right fucking word.

“And of course, Charles’ here is even more sophisticated,” Shaw continues. “It allows, oh, so many possibilities.”

Charles. Charles who Erik hasn’t let himself look at, not properly, since he woke up in this room. Charles, who is once again falling victim to that proprietary touch of Shaw’s, the man’s fingers dancing across the circlet that is settled around Charles head, fitting snugly across his temples.

Erik can’t see his own collar, but he can tell by the feel of it against his skin that it’s an unbroken band of…whatever material it’s made of (it _can’t_ be metal, surely? They never did gat a chance to establish exactly what the helmet was made of). Charles’ crown (and it _does_ look a bit like a crown – a crown of thorns) appears to be made up of multiple small sections, with gaps between them. How that makes it more sophisticated, Erik has no idea. He would have thought the gaps would make the technology imperfect, allow some use of Charles’ telepathy, at least to a certain extent.

It never occurs to him that that’s _exactly_ the point.

“What have you done to him?” Erik growls, unable to suppress the question any longer, but knowing that he’s giving something away. Something that Shaw can use against him.

“You know, I can’t decide if I’m infuriated or impressed by Charles’ defiance,” Shaw says. “Emma here was so convinced our little scheme would work. It seems she was a little optimistic.”

Frost shoots Shaw a look of pure dislike, and Erik briefly wonders if that’s something _he_ can use. But that’s not his priority right now.

“What have you _done_ to him?” he asks again, putting all the steel he can’t bring to his fingertips into his voice.

He can see some of the answers to his question on Charles’ body, and it sickens him. Bruises and ugly wounds mar Charles’s deathly pale skin, blood drying in patches on what’s left of his tattered clothing. Erik is surprised that Shaw can even bring himself to touch Charles (but then, he’s never had a problem with blood, as Erik’s experienced firsthand).

“Dear Charles refused to give us some information,” Shaw finally responds. “And it turns out that he’s _terribly_ hard to persuade.”

“What information?”

“It’s simple really. We merely wanted to know where you’ve all been hiding since our last encounter.”

 _So we can come and wipe you all out once and for all_ , Shaw didn’t finish, but which Erik heard anyway, clear as day.

“And knowing you couldn’t just pluck the information out of his brain, you tried to beat it out of him, I suppose,” Erik says, with as much disdain as he can muster. “How crude.”

“Oh, I agree with you,” Shaw says unexpectedly. “ _So_ crude. But it passed the time until the suppression technology could be perfected. We were already so close when the professor arrived here.”

 _It passed the time…_ It takes everything Erik has to hold back the red blanket of rage that threatens to engulf him then.

“And imagine our disappointment when the technology, despite all our fine-tuning, _still_ only had a limited effectiveness on Charles’ brain,” Shaw continues. He doesn’t _look_ particularly disappointed, Erik observes. “With the suppressor on, his telepathic abilities are suppressed enough that he can’t use them himself. Which means that he can no longer stop another telepath, such as our dear Miss Frost, from sliding into his mind – although of course, they would have to be touching him. The suppression means that there must be a direct, physical link.”

“But you still couldn’t find the information,” Erik realises, not caring in the least how the technology works. He suppresses a smirk that he knows will only have _consequences_.

For a split second, Shaw looks angry. Then his face clears, and he almost shrugs. “No,” he admits. “The brain is a complicated and wonderful organ, after all. I doubt even the professor knows everything there is to know about it, and he might reasonably claim to be one of the most powerful telepaths in the world. Most of the time, anyway.” Shaw’s fingers run over Charles’ suppressor again, making a point. “But it seems that Charles managed to lock away various pieces of pertinent information that even the suppressor couldn’t loosen his hold on. Emma couldn’t discover the location of your little band of ‘X-Men’ anywhere inside his head.”

“How frustrating that must have been for you,” Erik says, completely sincerely.

“Oh, immensely,” replies Shaw. “But then, as luck would have it, _you_ came along. The loyal follower, trying to rescue his friend. I knew immediately we could use you.”

“Use me? You mean you could just get the information out of my mind instead,” Erik says. The memories are starting to come back now. He’s wearing his jumpsuit because he was on a rescue mission, to find Charles. They’d had a lead on Shaw, which had obviously turned out to be correct.

Erik blinks. _They’d_ had a lead. This was a _proper_ rescue mission. Raven and the others had refused to be left behind, he remembers suddenly. Which means… Erik doesn’t know how long he’s been here, in Shaw’s clutches, but surely they wouldn’t have left him behind? Left _Charles_ behind?

Erik feels something that might be hope for the first time since he woke up.

“Ah, Erik, you underestimate yourself,” Shaw is saying. “Of course, I had Emma try to extract the information from you when you first arrived here, but it seems that daily co-habitation with a telepath has allowed you to hone your mind to the point of obstruction. She had a dreadfully trying time in there. She likened it to a nuclear bunker surround by razor wire, if I recall.”

That part Erik _can’t_ remember. At least not yet. But he knows his own mind, and he’s willing to bet it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for Frost. The expression on her face only confirms it.

He doesn’t show Shaw his surprise, though. Although he’s still not the biggest fan of having telepaths in his head, Erik had thought that he was becoming more used to having Charles there, at least. He hadn’t realised that he’d still been resisting Charles’ mental incursions – not to the extent that he’s apparently subconsciously improved his own mental barriers enough that he can make life difficult for someone like Frost, anyway (he suspects said barriers wouldn’t actually cause Charles much of a problem, though).

“So you couldn’t get the information out of Charles, and you couldn’t get it out of me,” Erik says. “So you had Frost protect that little fantasy into my head…why? For kicks?”

“He’s not as clever as he thinks he is, is he?” Frost comments, speaking for the first time. She’s looking at Erik like he’s something nasty on the bottom of her shoe, but Erik’s not about to let that bother him.

“That ‘little fantasy’, as you call it – interesting choice of words, by the way, Erik – _was_ Emma’s idea. Since it appeared that brute force wasn’t going to work, she suggested we try guile instead. An intriguing concept, don’t you think? Not one I’m normally prone to, I admit.” But although she was the conduit, the catalyst, the talent behind it was all Charles.”

“Guile?”

“The suppressor really is an amazing piece of technology. I mentioned that this particular design stops Charles here using his power. However, it doesn’t stop _someone else_ from using it, although again they’d need the physical link. But while Emma was the conduit, the catalyst, the talent behind her little scheme was all Charles. After all, he possesses skills she can only dream of.” Shaw smiles indulgently. “I believe she found the whole experience rather heady.”

Erik still doesn’t exactly understand what it is he’s being told, but he understands enough that it makes him feel sick. To take another mutant’s power by force and use it…he suddenly has a vision of Emma Frost laying her icy fingers on him and making everything metal in this room dance to her tune.

“Emma used Charles’ power to construct a scenario into your head that would be detailed enough that you’d believe it was real.” Shaw continues his explanation, looking rather as if he agrees with Frost’s observation on Erik’s intelligence. “The idea being that if you thought it was real you’d let slip the location of your little hideaway at some point during conversation.”

“I saw you there,” Erik realises, eyes swinging to Frost. “The very first day I woke up and felt like something was wrong. I saw you in the grounds.”

Frost looks annoyed and Shaw chuckles.

“It took her a little while to get used to wielding all that power,” he says. “I did worry she was going to give the whole game away, but it seems you’re far more trusting than you used to be, Erik. Even though you saw little things were wrong, at least to start with, you trusted it was all real.”

“It didn’t work, though, did it?” Erik points out, a little triumph bleeding into his voice.

A very ugly look abruptly twists Shaw’s features. “No,” he says. “It didn’t. But you shouldn’t flatter yourself that that had anything to do with you, my dear Erik.” His suddenly furious gaze turns back to Charles.

“Charles was fighting back, wasn’t he?” Erik says, slowly realising it himself. “He was trying to take control of the projection. Every time I got anywhere near letting the information slip, he tried to turn the conversation, or distract me. And when I started to realise that things weren’t right, that something was going on, he did the same. He was trying to protect the others and he was trying to protect me, because he thought that if I broke the projection by working out that it _was_ just a projection before he could properly take control and do something, that would be it. You’d have no further use for me.”

Erik’s counts himself lucky he’s not prone to blushing as he remembers the form that Charles’s distractions had taken, even though this isn’t really the moment for those memories. Although he’s certain both Frost and Shaw have all the details anyway.

“And the pain – that was you, wasn’t it.” Erik forces himself to continue. “Every time he tried to thwart you – no, he _did_ thwart you, every single time – you punished him, tried to force things back to way you wanted them.”

“Defiance will _not_ be tolerated,” Shaw snaps.

“Didn’t change a fucking thing, though, did it?” Erik taunts, no longer caring that it’s a very bad idea. “Frost couldn’t keep her grip on things, and eventually it all fell apart. And you _still_ don’t have the information you want.”

This is going to hurt, he realises, as in the blink of an eye (or so it seems) Shaw is standing in front of him. Shaw backhands him across the face, his movement almost casual even as he pours a not inconsiderable amount of energy into the action.

The chair tilts again, and this time he falls all the way. Erik’s head bounces against the floor, and for a moment he sees stars. Before his vision can clear he feels himself lifted and set upright again, Shaw expending no more effort than if he were a kitten, or something equally powerless.

Shaw looks ruffled, but his voice is once again calm when he speaks. “You are right, Erik, I _don’t_ have the information I want. Yet. But if Charles thought I’d have no further use for you if you foiled Emma’s little plan, then he was unfortunately very wrong.” He grabs Erik’s chin and forces him to look up into his face. “Brute force didn’t work on Charles, so let’s see how well it works on you.”

Erik almost laughs. Shaw thinks to torture the information out of him? Has he forgotten so much?

Shaw obviously realises the direction Erik’s thoughts have taken. He smiles – a nasty, cruel smile. “Oh no, Erik,” he says. “I don’t expect _you_ to crumble under the pain. But how will Charles react, I wonder? When he sees his _lover_ being tortured?”

Lover. That confirms it. Frost saw and Shaw knows. He knows what went on between Erik and Charles in the projection.

Erik stills. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know the answer to Shaw’s question. He doesn’t _know_ how Charles will react to seeing him tortured. Oh, he’s sure he can trust Charles not to give away the mansion’s location. He would never, _never_ put Raven and the others in danger, not even to save Erik.

But there is also something else he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if what happened between him and Charles in that fake world was real or not. _Was_ it just a distraction technique for Charles? To throw Erik off track? To keep everyone else safe? Or was there something more to it? Even in a projection created and manipulated by Emma Frost, was there something _real_ there?

And if it was – is – real, what will it do to Charles, watching Shaw torture Erik? Especially as the only thing he can do to stop it is something he’ll never do.

“We’ll leave you to think things over for a while, shall we?” Shaw is saying. “After all, dear Charles needs to be awake for this to work. And I do feel there are distinct benefits to contemplation in situations like this.”

And then he leaves, with Frost following, supremely confident in the suppressors around Erik’s throat and Charles’ head continuing to do their jobs. Supremely confident that there is no threat at all to him here.

As soon as they are gone, all of Erik’s attention zeroes in on Charles. “Charles!” he whispers hoarsely. And then, when there is no response, a little louder. “ _Charles!_ ”

He can see that Charles is breathing, knows he isn’t dead, but he has to admit he’d wondered whether Charles was faking his unconsciousness throughout Erik and Shaw’s conversation. Although Frost probably would have cottoned on to that pretty quickly.

He tries one more time. “Charles!”

But Charles remains unresponsive, and Erik slumps back in his seat, unaware until that moment that he’d been straining towards Charles, pulling against his bindings hard enough that he now has rope burns forming on his wrists.

“Damn it, Charles…” Erik has no idea how long it will take Charles to come around (or even if he will, a traitorous little voice whispers in the back of his head), and no idea how long it will be before Shaw gets bored of waiting and has Emma force Charles to wake up, if she can.

And to make matters worse, he has no idea how long he’s been here. Indications are it’s not that long. He doesn’t feel hungry or thirsty, doesn’t have any strong desire to use the bathroom yet. No more than a few hours, probably, he deduces.

Then it hits him how completely at odds that is with the amount of time that had passed when he thought he was in the mansion. That had felt like days – _was_ days, it had appeared. All that packed into only a few hours. All that time, all that oddness, all that…emotion.

It scares Erik, a little bit.

Still, if he’s only been here, in Shaw’s base, for short amount of time in reality, then hopefully Raven and others are still somewhere close by, formulating some kind of rescue plan.

 _That_ thought simultaneously scares Erik, and galls him. He’s never needed rescuing in his life. But beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes. And if it means that Charles is rescued too, he’ll gladly swallow every bit of his wounded pride about the matter.

All he can do now is wait – either to be rescued, or for Shaw to return.

And hope that Charles wakes up soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Much as I hate to admit it, they might be our only hope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to torture and rape.

“Erik…”

Erik stirs, his head rolling to the side groggily. He must have dozed – he remembers the throbbing in his head from where he’d cracked it against the floor getting worse. He remembers thinking he’s probably going to have some spectacular bruising. He remembers thinking he’s probably got a touch of concussion.

Which is probably what sent him off to sleep, despite his predicament.

“Erik…”

That sounds like…

“Charles!” Erik snaps his head upright, and then closes his eyes briefly against a particularly vicious throb in his temples. When he opens them again Charles is looking at him from under half-closed eyelids, as if the light in the room is too bright for him to bear.

“Are you all right?” Charles’ voice is rasping and hoarse, as if he’s screamed his throat raw.

Erik shies away from that thought.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he says.

“I’ve been better,” replies Charles, all too seriously. Then his half-open eyes drift to the collar around Erik’s neck. “Ah. I suppose that explains why we haven’t left yet.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You shouldn’t have come, Erik,” Charles tells him.

“Shouldn’t have…? Don’t be fucking _ridiculous_ , Charles!”

Charles flinches at Erik’s tone, and Erik feels guilt stab at him.

“Where’s…where’s Shaw?” Charles asks.

“Waiting for you to wake up,” says Erik grimly. “And since I’m sure he’s got a camera in here somewhere, we should probably be expecting him soon.”

Charles’ deathly pale skin goes, if possible, even paler, and he opens his eyes a little wider. Erik suddenly realises that he’s not sure if he’s ever seen Charles truly afraid, but he knows he’s seeing it now. He has to push back the rage again at that, but it’s just another thing that Shaw will _pay_ for. No one should be able to make Charles look that terrified and get away with it.

Erik wishes he could reassure the other man. Tell him not to worry, that when Shaw returns Charles’ mind will not be invaded again. But somehow he doesn’t think Charles will appreciate the platitudes, or find them comforting.

“Raven and the others?” Charles says urgently.

“They’re around here somewhere,” Erik replies. “I think.”

Then he feels guilty again when Charles obviously misinterprets his words. “No, no, I don’t mean Shaw has them too. They came with me to find you, but I came in here alone. They’re still outside – I hope. Much as I hate to admit it, they might be our only hope.”

Just as the final words leave Erik’s mouth, the door opens and Emma Frost walks in. And Erik immediately realises what a horrible mistake he’s just made. Never mind the camera he knows must be somewhere about – there’s a _telepath_ here, an unfettered one. And while Frost might not be able to dig deep into his mind, he’s damn sure she can read his surface thoughts at the very least. Surface thoughts that right now are focusing on Raven and a possible rescue mission.

The silence in the room is deafening, and Erik wants to fill it with a scream. How could he be so fucking _stupid?_

Frost looks between Erik and Charles for a moment, the smallest of smiles curving her lips, and then moves to stand behind Charles. She places two fingers against Charles’ left temple, between two of the sections of his suppressor, in a mockery of Charles’ own actions when using his telepathy. Charles looks as if he’s bracing himself for something extremely unpleasant.

Erik doesn’t understand what’s going on. Shaw had seemed quite enthusiastic about his new plan of beating Erik to a pulp while Charles’ watched. And that’s not a plan that requires Frost’s presence. So why is she here, alone? And why is she apparently trying to force herself inside Charles’ head again?

Maybe the plan has changed. Erik wouldn’t put it past Shaw to do something like this, just to keep them off balance.

He braces himself, like Charles. He’s determined not to be fooled this time by any mind tricks that Frost might try to play on him.

There’s a pause that feels like an eternity, and then, inexplicably, Charles smiles – a wide, almost ecstatic, smile. A smile that disappears almost as soon as it arrives, to be replaced by an expression that could almost be described as horrified.

“Take your hands off him,” Erik snaps, convinced that Frost is doing something awful to Charles inside his head. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

He knows the threats are empty, he knows that struggling against his bonds again will get him precisely nowhere, but he can’t stand feeling so fucking _impotent_.

It’s several seconds before he realises that Charles is saying something to him.

“No, no, Erik, it’s all right. It’s not…it’s not her. I’m fine. Just calm down, my friend, calm down…”

He becomes aware that Frost is no longer standing behind Charles, no longer _touching_ Charles. Instead she is watching Erik with her arms folded across her chest, and a very familiar amused expression on her face.

It takes him a moment to understand, and even then it’s only the brief flash of golden eyes that really clues him in.

“ _Raven?_ ” he hisses. “Is that you?”

“You were expecting someone else, honey?” Raven-as-Frost drawls, her impersonation uncanny.

“How did you get in here?” Erik asks, still not quite believing she’s here despite hoping for precisely this eventuality, in one form or another.

“I walked,” Raven replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She gestures down at herself. “It’s easy when you’re a master of disguise.”

“Never mind that,” Charles interrupts. “Raven, this is foolhardy. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Because you two are obviously _so close_ to escaping, right?” Raven says sarcastically, giving them both a pointed look.

“Charles, she’s right,” Erik says. “We need her help.”

“And I bet it just chokes you to admit that, doesn’t it?” Raven says, her tone promising that she’s never going to let Erik forget this.

Erik ignores it, instead asking, “So, what’s the plan?”

“Ah…” All Raven’s smugness drops away, and Erik abruptly gets a sinking feeling.

Charles obviously has that same feeling. “You’re making this up as you go along, aren’t you?” he asks Raven.

“Hey, I got in here, didn’t I?” Raven protests. “And I’ll damn well get you out.”

“Well, you’d better do it quickly, before someone notices what’s going on,” Erik says. He hasn’t worked out yet where the camera in the room is, but he’s still sure it’s here, and he’s certain they haven’t got much longer before someone watching a screen somewhere realises that the Emma Frost they’re seeing isn’t in fact Emma Frost at all.

Speaking of…

“How has Frost not detected you?” Erik asks. “Surely she’d notice an unfamiliar mind lurking around Shaw’s base.”

“Kept my thoughts small,” Raven replies. “It’s a trick I learnt around Charles – he taught it me, actually. Keep your thoughts small, and you blend in with the crowd. Not that there’s much of a crowd around here. This place is practically empty. Shaw’s obviously not recruiting at the moment.”

“Then we’d better go now, before the real Frost notices that one of the minds in the not-so-large multitude doesn’t belong. Untie me, quickly.”

Raven does so, and Erik immediately goes to Charles and starts working on the straps securing him. It hasn’t escaped Erik’s notice that Charles had dropped out of the conversation with Raven at the end there, and as he releases Charles’ wrists, he asks in a low voice, “Can you do this, Charles?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Charles replies, in little more than a whisper. “Don’t worry, Erik, I’ll manage.”

But as soon as Charles tries to take a step away from his restraints, he lurches, and Erik swiftly catches hold of his shoulders to stop him toppling to the floor.

“Ah,” says Charles, “I seem to be a little weaker than I anticipated.”

 _No, you’re not_ , Erik thinks at him, not wanting Raven to hear. _You’re exactly as weak as you anticipated. You’re just a stubborn fool, Charles._

Then he realises that Charles won’t have heard a word of that – he’s still wearing his suppressor.

Erik notices Raven’s eyes lingering on it. “Long story,” he tells her shortly. “Can you take it off while I hold him up? Do it carefully – there’s no telling how he’ll be affected after wearing that thing.”

“‘He’ is right here and can speak for himself,” Charles retorts, with a passable attempt at irritation. Then he sighs. “Erik’s right,” he admits. “I don’t know what will happen when you take it off, but I do know I don’t want it to stay on for a moment longer.”

Erik meets Raven’s eyes over Charles’ head, and nods. Slowly and gently, Raven slides the suppressor over Charles’ hair and off his head.

Charles squeezes his eyes closed, his expression strained.

“Charles?” Raven asks worriedly.

“It’s just a bit much,” Charles grits out. “Give me a moment…”

They don’t have a moment. “Charles, we have to go,” Erik says, hating himself for rushing the other man, but there’s no _time_.

“All right, I’m all right,” Charles murmurs. But when he tries to move he wobbles again, and Erik doesn’t think twice before bending and scooping Charles up in his arms. His head swims for a moment, the concussion making itself felt, but there’s no way he’s going to succumb to that now, and he grits his teeth until things settle down again.

Raven’s obviously noticed that all is not quite right with Erik either, but she wisely keeps silent on the subject. Instead, her eyes slide to Erik’s own suppressor, still encircling his throat. “What about you?” she asks. “Do you want me to take that off?”

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” Erik tells her. “But I suspect it won’t be that easy.”

He’s correct. A cursory examination of the collar reveals that, while it has a fastening, resting against the back of Erik’s neck, it’s too complex to come undone easily.

“Just leave it,” Erik mutters after a moment. “We’ll have to do this without my assistance.”

“Hank will be able to get it off,” Raven promises. “I know he will.”

Erik nods shortly, hoping she’s right. It’s almost claustrophobic, being stuck behind the collar’s constraints. If he could, Erik would tear it from his neck right now.

“It would probably look a bit obvious if someone saw you without it on, anyway,” Raven continues.

“I think that’s the least of our problems, don’t you?” Erik says, his eyes dropping to Charles resting in his arms.

“Oh…I suppose so…”

“I can walk,” Charles protests feebly. “If it’ll help…”

Erik ignores this blatant untruth and looks pointedly towards the door.

“Fine, fine,” Raven says, glaring. “We’ll just have to take our chances.” Then her expression clears. “Oh! What about…Charles, could you make it so no one can see us?”

Erik opens his mouth to ask her what the hell she’s thinking, and does she have _any_ idea what Charles has been through in the last few weeks, and could she be in any more tactless if she tried, but Charles answers before he has a chance to say any of it.

“No.”

Erik tries to school his expression away from _I told you so_.

“It would require more concentration and effort than I’m capable of right now,” Charles continues. “But I might be able to manage something else. I could probably make it so anyone who sees us doesn’t think anything of it. Make it so they think our presence is perfectly normal.”

“Charles, are you sure?” Erik asks in a low voice.

“We don’t have much choice, do we, Erik?” Charles replies, tilting his head back against Erik’s cradling arm so he can look Erik in the eye. “We have to go now, and I don’t think any of us has a better idea.”

*~*~*~*~*

Raven-as-Frost leads the way, Erik following along behind, Charles still in his arms. Charles has his eyes closed, two fingers pressed to his temple as he mentally pulls the wool over everyone’s eyes. His face is strained, and so are the faces of everyone they meet – it’s obvious that Charles isn’t able to put a lot of finesse into what he’s doing. Erik suspects that all of Shaw’s minions are going to feel like they’ve been bludgeoned with the mental equivalent of a blunt instrument later.

The only blessing is that apparently Raven was correct. Shaw doesn’t actually appear to _have_ many minions at the moment, so the effort required from Charles is as minimal as it can be. This probably also explains their luck in not being caught before they’d even left the room where Charles and Erik were being held – Erik still thinks it’s a miracle no one spotted the unusual behaviour of Emma Frost and the releasing of the prisoners on a security feed.

Still, Erik is glad when they finally leave the populated areas of Shaw’s base. After five minutes of not seeing another soul, he even cautiously allows himself to relax a little, and attempts to shift Charles’ weight in his arms.

The movement makes Charles open his eyes. He looks exhausted, despite the relatively brief use of his powers, and his skin has now taken on an almost greyish tinge.

He looks around them as they walk. “Where are we?” he asks.

“Going out the back entrance,” Raven replies, from up ahead. She’s still wearing Frost’s appearance – better to be safe than sorry, even now – and her still-pristine white clothing and immaculately coiffed hair look out of place in this grimy corridor. “It’s the same way Erik – and I – came in. But it’s still going to be a bit of a walk once we get out. Can you manage it?”

She looks back over her shoulder as she asks, and Erik knows the question is directed more at him than at Charles. He nods shortly at her. His head is throbbing again, and his back is starting to protest at the strain of carrying Charles, but he’ll die before he drops the other man.

“Good. I told the others to wait with the helicopter. Alex and Sean weren’t happy at being left out of things, but I told them we needed to keep them in reserve in case I failed. And Hank’s the only one who can fly the damn thing, so we couldn’t risk him.”

“Wait, _helicopter?_ ” Charles demands incredulously. “Where the hell did you get a helicopter?” He stares up at Erik reproachfully, as if assuming that the helicopter’s presence is all his doing. And not in a _legal_ way.

“Hank may not be with the CIA any more, but apparently he still has connections,” Raven says. “And damn useful they are too.”

With no spare breath for talking, Erik merely raises an eyebrow at Charles. Charles’ gaze drops, abashed, and a short time later his eyes slide shut again.

“Here we are,” Raven says, after two more corners and another short stretch of corridor.

Erik nods again. His muddled memories have become clearer as they’ve proceeded, and he remembers this door, remembers exerting his power on the – albeit rather pathetic – lock, and remembers being faintly surprised at how deserted the place was when he’d slipped inside.

He starts towards the door, but Raven puts out a hand to stop him. “Let me take a look first,” she says. “Make sure the coast is clear. At least if someone sees me coming out, I might be able to talk my way out of things.” She gestures down at her still-Emma-Frost-shaped form, smiles quickly, and reaches for the door handle.

But she’s barely laid a hand on it when a wailing alarm splits the air. Erik startles, jostling Charles enough that his eyes open again, and he looks around in some confusion.

“Oops, I think that’s for us,” Raven exclaims. “Looks like your absence has finally been noticed.

Erik gives her a look – _you don’t say?_ – and she rolls her eyes at him and reaches for the door handle again, abandoning her former plan of a surreptitious look around in favour of shouldering it open quickly and beckoning to Erik. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Not able to spare the time to reassure Charles, whose use of his power has obviously completely drained him now, and who is looking lost and confused by the noise and situation, Erik hurries through the door after Raven, finding himself in a dirty, rubbish-strewn alleyway.

His last shreds of memory return to him as he follows Raven along the alley to the corner of the warehouse in which Shaw is concealing his base. It still strikes him as an odd choice for a criminal hideout. Yes, the industrial complex is abandoned – signs around the perimeter indicate that it’s slated for demolition soon, although Erik wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Shaw’s discreetly greased a few palms to put a permanent delay on that – and yes, it’s not like it’s slap bang in the middle of a town or anything. But the area is by no means unpopulated, increasing the risk that someone might stumble across Shaw’s outfit by accident.

Then again, if that were to happen, it’s not like Shaw hasn’t got easy ways of dealing with unwitting intruders. And perhaps the proverb about hiding in plan sight holds true, after all. A location like this has certainly got to be more convenient from the point of view of supplies and utilities than a base in the mountains, or the arctic, or someplace equally remote and exotic.

“Come _on_ ,” Raven hisses, and Erik realises his steps have slowed. His back is screaming at him now, but he resolutely ignores the pain (he’s endured worse, after all) and speeds up again, joining Raven where she is peering around the corner of the building.

“No one in sight,” Raven whispers, and it seems she was right about Shaw not having many minions. Maybe they’ll get out of this after all.

“It’s that way.” Raven points across the open waste ground in front of them towards another building, and Erik thinks about pointing out that he does remember where they landed the helicopter, thank you very much.

But talking would be a waste of energy he can’t afford right now, so he merely jerks his head in the direction she’s pointing in. _So what are we waiting for?_

“We’ll have to risk it,” she agrees. “Let’s go.” She takes one last look around, and then darts from the cover of the warehouse, moving quickly despite the high heels that Emma Frost always seems to wear. Erik grits his teeth and goes after her, moving as fast as he can without shaking Charles around too much.

They make it to the next building without any shouts of alarm indicating that they’ve been seen, and duck through an open doorway into a dark, dusty interior.

“Through here, then another patch of open ground, and the helicopter’s behind the next building,” Raven explains, completely unnecessarily. She gives a short, dry bark of laughter. “Shaw’s external security really does suck.”

 _Ego_ , Erik thinks. And then, _But no one will get this lucky again. Not after this._

“Can you make it?” Raven asks, her eyes flashing gold again in the dim light as they travel worriedly from Erik’s face down to a now unconscious Charles.

Now that they’ve stopped moving for a moment, Erik summons up the breath to force a few words out. “I can make it,” he mutters. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, is it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Raven says, although she still looks worried. “Come on, then.”

They slip through the building unchallenged. Behind them, Erik can still faintly hear the alarm wailing in the warehouse they escaped from, but it appears Shaw’s men haven’t spread their search net too wide yet. _We’re actually going to make it_ , he thinks, perhaps a little deliriously.

But they’ve no sooner stepped from the building into the open air again than it seems their luck has finally run out.

“Stop right there,” says a voice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here they are. At the topic Erik has been simultaneously trying to avoid thinking about, and dwelling on constantly for what feels like far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to non-con.

“Stop right there.”

Erik’s heart leaps uncomfortably into his throat, and for a split second he’s actually close to panicking. Then he realises that he recognises the voice, and by the time Alex has stepped out from behind a pile of crates he’s smoothed any hint of alarm from his face.

Alex’s eyes dart quickly to Erik and Charles, and then travel back to Raven, his expression clearly suspicious. There’s a long moment where nobody moves, and then Raven sighs, puts her hands on he hips, and rolls her eyes in a very Raven-like manner.

“It’s me, you idiot,” she says. “Do you really think the real Emma Frost would just be wandering around back here in the middle of a security alert with public enemies number one and two in tow?” She shifts, and blue skin overlays Emma’s white clothing and pale complexion.

Without the disguise, she’s naked, and Erik feels a brief flash of amusement at Charles’ probable reaction if he were conscious.

If he were conscious…

“Excuse me…” he says pointedly.

Both Raven and Alex ignore him.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Raven is saying. “I thought we’d agreed you were going to stay with the helicopter.”

“Banshee and Beast are back there,” Alex replies. “I thought we needed a lookout, in case anyone started getting too close.”

“Anyone like Emma Frost?” Raven challenges.

“Well, yeah.”

“And what would have done if I had really been her?”

Alex shrugs. “Blasted her into atoms, probably.”

“And you think you could have done that before she did some mind voodoo on you, do you?”

“I reckon so, yes…”

“ _Hey!_ ” Erik says sharply, cutting through their argument.

They both turn to look at him.

“Do you think we could save the petty squabbles about deviating from the prescribed escape plan until later? After we’ve _escaped?_ ” he asks pointedly.

Raven’s guilt is clear on her face, and Alex looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes, come on, let’s go,” Raven says. “Alex, lead the way.”

They make it to the helicopter with no further incidents, and find Sean waiting for them anxiously, and Hank sitting in the pilot’s seat, growling with impatience.

It feels wrong for Erik to let go of Charles now, but he allows Alex and Sean to take the unconscious telepath from him, and the pain in his back almost worse once he’s been relieved of his burden (no, wait, not a burden, _never_ a burden).

He ignores it as best he can and hoists himself into the helicopter, collapsing into a seat as he watches Alex and Sean manhandle Charles into the one opposite, gritting his teeth against protesting at the inevitable bumps and jolts Charles receives.

Charles doesn’t wake this time, and Erik refuses to think about what that might mean.

“Everyone strapped in?” Hank asks from up front. “Because we really need to get the hell out of here.”

Erik only realises he’s _not_ strapped in as the helicopter makes its initial lurch upwards, and hastily grabs the ends of the belt hanging from his seat and buckles them securely.

The side of the helicopter is still open to the elements as they lift off, and Erik looks out as the ground drops away. They are a couple of hundred feet in the air when the figure appears on the top of the closest warehouse, in a swirl of red smoke. Erik braces himself – it’s instinct, and it isn’t until he feels nothing that he remembers the suppressor around his throat. He can’t quite believe he’d forgotten its presence, but now he’s reminded of it, the sense of claustrophobia at not being able to use his powers creeps quickly back.

His hands go to his neck automatically, feeling for the fastening even though he knows he won’t be able to undo it. This impotence reminds him of being restrained on one of Shaw’s tables, unable to reach his powers no matter what Shaw did to him.

“Erik, hey, it’s okay…” A hand closes round his wrist, and he almost lashes out. Then he realises it’s Raven, and he reels himself in.

“We’ll get it off,” she promises him softly, her voice almost lost under the roar of the helicopter’s rotors. “But for now…it’s okay.”

Erik is uncomfortably aware that Alex and Sean are staring at him. He refuses to look back, and instead glances out of the helicopter again. The small red figure that is Azazel is receding into the distance as the helicopter climbs higher. The teleporter has obviously decided that it’s too dangerous to attempt one of his normal tricks.

“It’s okay,” Raven repeats.

They’ve escaped, but they’ve left Shaw behind, and Erik _still_ feels trapped.

His eyes go to the unconscious Charles opposite him. Things _aren’t_ okay. Not yet.

*~*~*~*~*

With the minimum of effort, Erik sets the inner workings of the doorknob turning and tumbling until, with a soft click, the catch gives and he can guide the door open.

It’s a silly, petty use of his power, but right now he feels an almost overwhelming impulse to prove that he can still do it, that the contraption Shaw had fastened around his neck hasn’t done any lasting damage.

Hank had made good on Raven’s promise and removed the suppressor, but it had taken nearly two hours of working at it, while Erik kept absolutely still, for him to work out how to undo the catch and lift it away from Erik’s skin.

The thing had looked innocuous, sitting on Hank’s lab bench, so completely dead to Erik’s power that it might as well have been made of wood despite its metallic sheen. Just being in the same room as it had made Erik’s skin crawl, and he’d wanted nothing more than to crush it into dust, or perhaps have Alex blast it into dust.

But Hank was determined to examine it, his scientific glee at having a new toy to play with almost unholy. So the best Erik could do was leave it in the lab, and try to forget that such a thing was even in the house.

“Are you coming in, or not?” a quiet voice asks, and it’s only years of practice that allows Erik to suppress his flinch of surprise. As he steps into the room, he realises his fingers have gone to his throat, brushing against the fabric of the turtleneck he’d donned after taking a shower, and he snatches them away. It’s the kind of sign of weakness he’s not accustomed to displaying, and he feels like he’s betrayed something of himself.

Raven is sitting on one side of the bed, and Erik makes the tactical decision to place himself on the other side, regarding her across the blankets.

The only thing that can be seen of Charles is his messy mop of hair and his face, too pale against the pillows. He’s asleep – no doubt it’s the best thing for him at the moment.

“How is he?” Erik asks. There had been some argument about whether to take Charles to a hospital or not, but ironically, in the end the severity of his injuries had decided them against it. Questions would have been asked and, in addition, Raven had been worried about exposing her brother to so many people while his telepathy was still in a fragile state.

So instead they’d brought Charles back to the mansion, and hoped they weren’t putting him in more danger by doing so (although Erik hasn’t completely ruled out the idea of a hospital, not yet – and he’s not unaware of how much a departure that is for him).

“Plenty of bruising and lacerations,” Raven replies, obviously forcing her voice to stay level. “Plus his left shoulder is swollen enough to indicate that it’s been dislocated and then forced back into the socket more than once, and he’s got at least two cracked ribs, we think.”

 _Fuck._ And Charles hadn’t made so much as a murmur while he was in Erik’s arms, despite the pain he must have been in.

“Are you sure that’s all?” Erik says, sarcastic and serious at the same time, worried that Charles might have other internal injuries they can’t see.

“Hank and I are pretty sure,” Raven confirms. “Okay, Hank’s not a medical doctor, but Charles and I patched each other up quite a few times during our childhood. I know what I’m looking for.”

She doesn’t explain that statement further, and Erik senses this is not something he should push about right now.

“But of course we need to keep an eye on him,” Raven allows. “There’s no use pretending he’s not in a bad way.”

“And what about…other things?” Erik enquires hesitantly. “How’s his…head?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Raven says. “One good thing is that he’s not projecting, which he tends to do when he’s stressed. Stuff just leaks out when he’s weak, or ill, which isn’t much fun for those around him. But as to what’s going on inside that brain of his, I haven’t a clue.”

“Not much, right now,” a soft voice says into the ensuing silence.

Erik’s head turns only fractionally faster than Raven’s, and he sees Charles blinking at them rather owlishly from the depths of the pillows.

“You’re talking over me again, you know,” Charles continues, in a slightly petulant tone.

“Charles, you were asleep,” Raven points out. “Which you still _should_ be,” she adds, exasperated.

“I’m thirsty,” Charles says, choosing to ignore the implicit instruction behind his sister’s words.

Raven rolls her eyes, but nonetheless pours a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand, dumps a straw in it, and then holds it close enough for Charles to take a few sips.

Charles suffers the indignity of the straw without complaint, but it’s obvious that even those few seconds of holding his head up have pained him, and Erik’s “How are you feeling?” dies on his lips before he can even ask such a stupid question.

“How are you feeling?”

Erik blinks until he realises that it wasn’t in fact him who had asked the question after all, but Charles.

“Are you talking to me? I’m _fine_ , Charles. Shaw didn’t do anything to me.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” Charles says quietly. But all of sudden he seems to be having trouble meeting Erik’s eyes. “Any chance of something to eat?” he asks Raven instead. “My rations haven’t exactly been up to standard over the past few weeks.”

“All right,” Raven acquiesces. “I’ll make you something. But after that you’re going right back to sleep. You need _rest_ , Charles.”

“Yes, nurse,” Charles says, mustering a grin that to Erik seems nothing short of miraculous.

Raven rolls her eyes again, and then stands to leave the room. “ _Don’t_ let him do anything as ridiculous as getting out of bed before I get back,” she warns Erik.

Erik nods, decides not to annoy Raven further by snapping off a mock salute, and then lets his eyes slide back to Charles as she leaves the room.

But Charles still isn’t looking at him, his gaze instead directed to the patch of sky visible between the partially open drapes at the window. Erik’s wondering if they’re just going to sit here in silence until Raven returns, when Charles sighs, and says seriously, “We need to talk, Erik.”

And suddenly, Erik discovers that he would be _perfectly_ content to sit in silence for the rest of the day. “Not yet, Charles,” he replies firmly. “You need to get better first.”

It’s cowardly, particularly as he suspects Charles might _need_ to talk in order _to_ get better, but right now the idea of discussing what happened sends a cold chill across his skin, and he’ll use any excuse he can to put it off.

*~*~*~*~*

Erik doesn’t avoid Charles. He’s not that cruel (he couldn’t be, not when it comes to Charles), and besides, he suspects Raven might have something to say about it if he tried.

And in any event, it seems that Charles has taken him at his word. He isn’t pushing Erik to talk about what happened – isn’t, in fact, speaking to anyone about anything to do with it beyond the bare facts of it all (Erik knows this because Alex, Sean, and even Hank have all asked Erik about it, and while Raven _hasn’t_ , Erik can tell that she’s as much in the dark as the other young mutants by the pinched, worried looks she’s constantly giving Charles).

However, the other thing that Charles isn’t doing is using his telepathy. And that is a glaring sign, if ever Erik saw one, that not everything is mending as fast as his physical injuries.

Previously, Charles would have thought nothing of sending mental questions or requests in the direction of anyone he thought might answer them – including Erik and Raven. Now he calls out with his voice, or, if necessary, simply waits for someone to enter whatever room he happens to be inhabiting so he can ask them in person.

If he’d been asked, Erik would have said he’d welcome a break from Charles’ somewhat unthinking use of his telepathy. He’d been getting used to it over the months, but he’d still not become completely comfortable with it. Now he finds, ironically, that he misses it. And not just because he hates to see any mutant deliberately curtailing their own powers.

“Erik!”

It takes him a moment to locate the source of the sharp hiss of his name, but then Erik realises that it is coming from Charles’ study, where Raven is standing in the doorway beckoning to him.

Erik looks around as he enters the room. It bears all the hallmarks of Charles’ occupancy, particularly now, when he’s been rather restricted as to where he can go. He graduated from bed-rest some days ago, but still isn’t quite well enough to go tramping round the house or grounds freely.

But Charles isn’t here now, and Erik gives Raven a questioning look.

“He’s gone to the kitchen for some tea,” she says, and then holds up a hand to forestall the protest she obviously knows is coming. “And before you start, he’s perfectly capable of that now. For god’s sake, Erik, I’m his _sister_ and I don’t mollycoddle him as much as you’ve been doing! I don’t pretend to know what happened to Charles when Shaw had him – beyond the obvious, of course,” she continues. “But clearly something did, and since Charles won’t talk to me about it, then I’m going to have to present him with the next best thing. And that’s _you_ , Erik.”

“Raven, I’m not sure that…”

“I’m not an idiot, Erik,” she interrupts him, eyes narrowing. “I _have_ noticed the way you’ve been dancing around each other ever since we brought him back. You’ve been almost killing him with kindness to ‘help him get better’, as you claim, and yet you won’t talk about anything more important than the latest training regime, and when Charles looks at you, when he thinks no one will notice – well, I’ve never seen anyone look guiltier.”

“Guilty? Charles has nothing to be guilty about!” Erik’s shocked protest causes Raven’s eyes to narrow even further.

“Then go and tell _him_ that! You’re trying to help him heal, aren’t you? Then he needs to know that he can stop blaming himself for whatever he thinks is his fault!”

Erik nods at her dumbly, and then turns on his heel. He needs to find Charles.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles has his back to Erik, and Erik watches him for a moment as he idly taps a teaspoon against the countertop while presumably waiting for the kettle on the stove to boil.

He doesn’t seem to have sensed Erik’s approach, and that’s worrying. Even when he’s not actively using his telepathy, Charles _always_ knows when someone is creeping up behind him, or whether there’s someone else already in a room he’s about to enter. Raven had complained once that it made Charles absolutely impossible to play hide-and-seek with when they were children, as he always knew exactly where Raven was hiding without having to look for her. Charles had, of course, vehemently protested against the accusations of cheating.

But right now, Charles appears completely unaware of Erik’s presence, and this is proved a few seconds later when Erik clears his throat and says, “I’ll have one too, if you’re making.”

The teaspoon goes clattering to the floor as Charles visibly startles, and Erik immediately apologises, even as his worry deepens about what could be going on inside Charles’ head that’s so involving that he’s totally oblivious to his surroundings.

“Oh, Erik, it’s you,” Charles says, glancing swiftly over his shoulder. He starts to bend to pick up the teaspoon, but Erik doesn’t even wait for the grimace of pain – Charles might be more mobile now, but he’s still tender and fragile – before he lifts the spoon gently from across the room and levitates it back on to the counter next to the cup that’s waiting for Charles’ tea.

“Thank you,” says Charles quickly. And then, “Did you say you wanted tea, too?”

“Please,” replies Erik, and follows up his trick with the spoon by removing the kettle from the stove as it starts to whistle and bringing it smoothly across the kitchen, pouring hot water into Charles’ cup, and the one that Charles has retrieved from the cupboard for Erik.

“Thank you,” says Charles again. He proceeds to add milk, and a little sugar to his cup, and then shuffles aside slightly so that Erik can pick up his tea.

He seems to expect Erik to leave immediately, and is therefore surprised when Erik pauses pointedly, and then beckons to Charles with an incline of his head.

“I thought we could take these outside. It’s a nice afternoon.”

Charles gives Erik a faintly suspicious look. It’s justified, Erik supposes – he’s never been much bothered by the weather, nice or otherwise.

“I thought we could talk,” he elaborates, and then feels ashamed at the mingled relief and apprehension that suddenly appears in Charles’ eyes.

But Charles only nods, and follows Erik outside to the terrace, and the bench that overlooks the grounds.

Although they’re out in the open, this somehow feels more private than the house, where anyone could walk in on them at any moment if they were in Charles’ study, or one of the sitting rooms. Out here, Erik will be able to see anyone coming long before they get close enough to hear what either he or Charles is saying. And Erik suspects the topic of conversation he’s intending on is one they’d both rather keep away from prying ears.

Erik allows Charles to settle, blow on his tea, and take a couple of sips before he asks, “How are you doing?”

Charles hesitates. It’s brief, but noticeable. Then he answers, “Well enough. Still a bit sore in places, but my ribs and shoulder are definitely a lot better.”

Erik doesn’t say anything, but merely takes a mouthful of his own tea, and waits.

The silence stretches on long enough that he’s actually starting to think about pointing out that Charles was the one who wanted to talk in the first place, back when they’d first brought him home, when Charles sighs, and turns to look at him.

“I owe you an apology, Erik.”

It seems Raven was right. Erik’s shame returns – how could he not have noticed this?

“And what do you think you have to apologise for, Charles?” he enquires, striving to keep his voice calm and level.

“Many things, my friend.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for a start, I am sorry that you did not get a chance at Shaw before we left his facility. I know we do not see eye to eye in our ideas of how to deal with him, but I know what a chance you gave up when you simply left him back there.”

Erik considers. In truth, he’d barely thought about Shaw at all during their flight from the facility. His entire focus had been on Charles, and getting him to safety. He smothers the wry smile that threatens to form on his lips – who could have predicted , only months ago, that his priorities would have changed so drastically?

And while he’d experienced the odd twinge of regret in the intervening period, he could not in all honestly say that it would have been a good idea to go after Shaw right then – even though Shaw has fewer resources and diminished strength now, the fact that he’d been able to take both Charles _and_ Erik prisoner in the first place proves that he’s still a formidable foe.

The memory of a conversation rises to the forefront of his mind.

 _“Shaw is not the only one who needs to regroup. Have you forgotten, Erik? Forgotten how long it took Raven and the others to recover from that day?”_

He could point out that Raven and the others are now recovered enough to mount a rescue mission, albeit a somewhat haphazard and unplanned one, but it wouldn’t be fair. He knows now that Charles is right (it appears this is an annoying trait both Xavier siblings possess) – they cannot attack Shaw now, even in his weakened state, and be sure of success. They barely managed to escape from his clutches the last time as it is.

The question about whether they _should_ attack Shaw at all is one he tactfully decides to leave for another day. It is an old argument between him and Charles, and not one that he needs to revive now.

Now there are more important things to discuss.

“That is not something you need to apologise for, Charles,” Erik says. “Choose something else.”

There is another long pause. “Perhaps what I did to you, then, my friend,” Charles begins haltingly.

“ _You_ did nothing to me. What happened was not your fault,” Erik says, stating what, _surely_ , Charles must know. “It was Shaw. Shaw and Emma Frost.” Emma Frost, who forced her way into Charles mind at Shaw’s behest, and used him for Shaw’s ends. He does not say the word, even in his own head, but Erik knows exactly what it was the pair did to Charles.

“Oh, Erik…” Charles sighs. “That is not true, and you know it. Not everything that happened was down to Miss Frost.”

And here they are. At the topic Erik has been simultaneously trying to avoid thinking about, and dwelling on constantly for what feels like far too long.

“You did what you had to do, Charles,” Erik points out. “To protect us all. I would have done the same.”

“Would you, though?” Charles asks, whip-crack fast. “I know you don’t have a very high opinion of yourself sometimes, Erik, but would you really have _forced_ yourself on your closest friend merely to keep some information concealed? Because that is what I did. And I don’t think you would have done the same thing at all.”

“And if you hadn’t done it, Shaw would have found this place. And we would never have been able to come back here. Assuming he hadn’t just killed all of us the second he had the information.”

Too late, Erik realises that his words make him sound like he’s agreeing with Charles’ assessment of events. Charles has turned away from him, hunching over his tea, his face crumpled in misery.

“ _Charles._ ” Erik slides along the bench and grasps Charles’ shoulder, not remembering until Charles tries to flinch from his grip that Shaw had touched him in exactly the same way, hard and possessive. He immediately lets go, but doesn’t move away from Charles.

“Charles,” he says again, “let me ask you a question.” He waits for Charles to acknowledge him, and when Charles does, with a merest twitch of his head, Erik continues. “Did I have free will in there?”

Charles’ entire body goes still.

“Did I?” Erik presses. “Because it felt like I did. After all, if Emma Frost had been able to manipulate me into saying exactly what she wanted me to, there would have been no need for the whole charade in the first place.”

Charles still isn’t looking at him, but he nonetheless nods. “You had free will,” he states, in a soft, almost sad voice.

“Then you will remember,” Erik says, his voice equally soft, but clear enough so that there’s no way Charles can miss his words, “that you didn’t _have_ to force me.”

This silence is the longest so far, and then…

 _Thank you, my friend._

The touch of Charles’ mind is so brief, and so tentative, that for a moment Erik doubts that he actually felt it at all. Then he notices that Charles has relaxed, just a little. Feeling greatly daring, he places his hand back on Charles shoulder – not gripping, not holding, just resting – and is gratified when Charles actually leans into the touch this time.

They stay like that for a moment, and then Charles says, aloud and haltingly, “Erik…you will understand that I cannot…not right now…I still don’t feel quite in control of myself…I can still feel her in here…”

“What?” Erik’s grip tightens reflexively, just for a moment.

“Oh no, I don’t mean like that,” Charles amends hastily. “We are in no danger. It’s just…I can still feel what she did, the imprint of it, and I need to…”

“Cleanse yourself,” Erik finishes for him. He understands completely. He’s spent years – decades – trying to rid himself of the stain Shaw had left on him. He’s never quite succeeded, but he’s learned to live with it. But he knows that won’t be enough for Charles. He’s been violated in the worse possible way for a telepath, and he’s unwilling to expose anyone else to that violation while it remains.

“I’ll be here, Charles,” Erik promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 _Thank you_ , comes the thought again, warm and suddenly oh so welcome to Erik.

It’s a start.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please stop treating me as if I am made of glass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: references to rape/non-con.

They start playing chess again that very evening. There’s no invitation, either verbal or mental, but somehow Erik knows that Charles is waiting for him, and he doesn’t think for a moment about not going.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Charles comments neutrally, as Erik settles himself behind the black pieces, martini in his hand. “Let’s see if you’ve managed to work out how to beat me yet.”

“Well, at least there’s no chance of you cheating, for a change,” Erik replies, and then a second later wonders when he’d come down with such an awful case of foot-in-mouth disease.

But Charles merely smiles, protests lightly, “I have never cheated at chess in my life, Erik, as you well know,” and then begins the game with one of his standard opening moves, effectively ending the conversation.

Erik continues to worry that he’s offended Charles throughout the opening skirmishes, until Charles sighs, sits back in his chair, and surveys Erik over the rim of his glass of whiskey.

“Please stop treating me as if I am made of glass,” he says bluntly. “Quite apart from anything else, it’s affecting your game.”

Looking down at the board, Erik realises Charles is right. He’s as little as three moves away from checkmate, and although he doesn’t normally beat Charles (even without any advantages telepathy might give him – and, despite Charles’ protestations, Erik still has his suspicions on that score – Charles is a brilliant chess player), he doesn’t normally lose this spectacularly either.

Nonetheless, he _does_ want to point out that perhaps treating Charles like glass is somewhat warranted at the moment, considering what’s happened, and considering that Charles himself has practically admitted to still feeling fragile after Emma’s attacks on him. But he’s already fulfilled his quota of tactless for the evening, so he remains silent.

Charles sighs again. “Believe it or not, I _do_ appreciate that I’ve been an invalid these past few weeks,” he says. “And I also appreciate everything you’ve done to help me recover. But I’m not an invalid any more, Erik. I won’t break at the slightest touch, or crumple at the odd word out of place. Perhaps you could leave the mother hen act to Raven from now on? It is her prerogative as my sister, after all.”

He has a faint smile on his face now, and Erik can’t help but return it.

“I rely on you to be _you_ , Erik. Someone who doesn’t coddle, and isn’t afraid to be blunt with me. _That’s_ what I need right now. I get enough worry and concern from the others. Do you think you can you manage that?”

Erik thinks for a moment, and then nods. “I believe I can.”

Charles’ smile brightens. “Good. I’m glad, Erik.” Then he reaches out, and tips both their kings over on to their sides. “So, what do you say we begin again, and actually try to make a match of it? Such appalling play might almost be a sign that we’re under some nefarious influence again.”

He says the words lightly enough, and Erik decides not to call him on the minute flinch that accompanies them. Instead, he opts to take Charles at his word, and asks a question that’s been niggling at him for some time.

“One thing I don’t understand,” he says. “If neither Shaw nor Frost knew where the mansion was – indeed, had never seen it – how could Frost create such an accurate representation of it in my head?”

For a moment he wonders if he’s pushed things too far – if actually Charles _would_ prefer it if Erik was a little more circumspect and a little less blunt about all this.

But after a moment Charles answers. “Because the idea came _from_ your head,” he replies. “I tend to find, as a telepath, that it is much easier to convince other people of things if you let their minds do most of the work. They just need a nudge here and there to help things along.”

“Oh.”

Charles seems to pick up on the fact that Erik still doesn’t quite understand. “Basically,” he elaborates, “my mind provides the know-how, the other mind provides the materials. Emma was just taking my power and wielding it. She wasn’t part of the scenario, so she couldn’t see what form it was taking.”

“But I saw her there, outside the mansion,” Erik objects.

“What you saw was probably a visual representation of her accidentally getting too close to your mind,” Charles says. “She would have had to pull back after that, to stop you getting any more suspicious. She would still be able to pick up on the general gist of proceedings from a distance – enough to be able to pluck the information she wanted from your head when it arose – but she wouldn’t be able to sense the details.”

“So the mansion was all me?”

“Yes, my power prompted your brain into constructing a scenario where you’d feel comfortable enough to let something slip.”

Charles looks around at the study they’re sitting in. “I suppose I should be flattered, but at the same time I’m so sorry, Erik.”

“We’ve already been though this,” Erik says sharply, not liking the way Charles’ expression has suddenly become strained. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Erik leans forward and starts setting up the chess pieces again. “Now, what’s say we play? Let me have a decent shot at beating you?”

The game starts anew, and although Erik still loses, it is worth it to see Charles become absorbed in the contest, forgetting at least for the moment some of the horrors his world - and his head – currently holds.

*~*~*~*~*

Days pass, and then weeks, and Charles recovers completely from his physical injuries. Raven still shows an occasional tendency towards coddling, which Charles bears with good grace – perhaps sensing that _she_ at least needs it, after the weeks of worry in which none of them had any idea where Charles was, or even if he was still alive.

Erik keeps his vow of treating Charles as normal, but makes himself as available as he can, in case Charles should need help to heal his other hurts.

But Charles, it seems, is determined to keep his own counsel when it comes to what’s going on inside his head, and it isn’t until one day out in the grounds, where Erik’s been keeping an eye on Sean as he practices his screeching (there’s really no other word for it) that Erik realises how far Charles has come in his private battle with himself.

 _He’s doing well, isn’t he?_ Charles says, and it takes Erik longer than it probably should have done to work out that the words hadn’t been spoken aloud, because Charles isn’t here. And even if he was Erik wouldn’t be able to hear him thanks to the mufflers on his ears.

 _Charles?_ he sends back tentatively, trying not to project too much of his relief.

 _Look behind you and up_ , comes the reply, and Erik looks over his shoulder at the house.

It takes him a moment to locate Charles at one of the upstairs windows, and when he does Charles gives him a little wave and a nod, and then shifts his focus to something behind Erik, waving again.

Erik takes off the ear-mufflers in time to hear Sean say, “Hey, is that the Prof?” before pulling a surprised face as Charles obviously says something to him in his head. “Thanks,” the young man says out loud, and then flashes a quick grin at Erik. “I’m going to go tell the others the prof’s better, okay?”

He’s gone before Erik can remonstrate with him, sprinting off across the lawn in the direction of the one of the house’s many doors.

 _Let him tell them_ , Charles says, his mental voice tinged with warmth. _They’ve been so worried, it’ll do them good._

 _And are you better?_ Erik asks.

 _I’m getting there, Erik._

Over the next few days, Charles starts communicating telepathically with all the members of the household again. It’s just like old times, so much so that after a while Raven is heard to grumble that she preferred it when Charles couldn’t demand tea from the length of the house away, and Erik starts to suspect that, despite his continuing protestations of innocence, Charles is cheating at chess again.

Then, about a week later, Hank draws Erik aside, asking if he can have a private word.

They retreat to the lab, where Erik fixes Hank with an expectant stare. Generally the pair of them don’t have much to talk about – they’re not exactly well matched when it comes to conversational topics, and Erik’s still a little wary of Hank’s obsession with laboratories, a perfectly reasonable concern, he believes, considering how much of his early life he spent in such places.

Hank looks worried, a somewhat comical expression on a face that bears more than a passing resemblance to a lion’s, and which is covered in blue fur. He’s also twisting his hands together nervously, something which Erik wouldn’t have suspected possible when one has paws.

“Well?” he asks, after several moments of silence.

Hank hesitates a bit longer, and then says, all in a rush, “Did you know the professor was going to ask me about rebuilding Cerebro?”

Erik’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“Yesterday,” Hank elaborates. “I think he’s serious this time.”

Rebuilding Cerebro has been an ambition of Charles’ ever since the first one, at the CIA facility, was destroyed. Erik still remembers that wide-eyed look of almost drunken glee the first time Charles had hooked himself up to the machine. Since then, Erik has learned to view Cerebro as a useful, albeit dangerous, tool. He can admit that it would be helpful for them to be able to find other mutants, what with Shaw still being at large. Even if his reasons still err more towards building an army rather than the simple desire to help their fellows that Charles cherishes.

But up until now, reconstructing Cerebro had always been a plan for the future. Not a pipe dream, as such, but something that requires a lot of forethought and planning. Despite all Charles’ wealth and resources, and the skills they possess as a group to aid them, building such a thing is by no means a simple undertaking.

Now though, it seems that future has arrived.

“Do you see this as a problem?” Erik asks carefully.

“Well, obviously it would take time, and materials, and I no longer have all my plans and research from the original, but…”

“But you can do it?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“And what about Charles? Is he up to it?”

Hank looks positively miserable now, as if he can sense all the emotions seething in Erik just below the surface. “I don’t know. I can’t pretend to have even scratched the surface of how Charles’ telepathy works. But he does seem to be regaining his confidence in himself.”

“Yes, he does,” Erik grinds out, through teeth that are almost gritted.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you…”

“Yes, you should. I needed to know this.”

“What are you going to do?”

Erik gives Hank a steely-eyed look. “I’m going to talk to Charles.”

*~*~*~*~*

Charles looks up the second Erik walks through the door, abandoning any pretence he might have been considering of continuing to read the book cradled in his hands. Erik knows that Charles must have been able to feel him coming from some distance away – he hasn’t exactly been making an effort to keep himself locked down since he spoke to Hank. But then, he’s also pretty sure that a person wouldn’t have to be a telepath to know _exactly_ what he’s thinking.

“Hank told you, then,” Charles says, not bothering to beat around the bush. He sighs, puts the book on the table beside his chair, and stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. The pose makes him look rather like a naughty schoolboy, caught passing notes in class.

“Yes, he did,” Erik replies. “And what I want to know is, why did I have to find out from _him?_ ”

“It’s only an idea at the moment.”

“Hank seemed to think it was more than that.”

“Well, all right, maybe it is,” Charles allows. “But you can’t deny that it’s a _good_ idea, Erik. That we need it. I would have thought you’d be over the moon at having a way to potentially find Shaw.”

Erik blinks. He hasn’t even bothered to consider it in that light, assuming both that Charles wouldn’t be willing to put Cerebro to that use, and that even if he did, Shaw wouldn’t be detectable anyway, what with that infernal helmet of his.

“Or, at least, we could use it to find one of his people,” Charles amends. “Azazel, Riptide…Emma. And it’s reasonable to assume that where they are, Shaw won’t be far away.”

“You’re only saying this to try and win me over,” Erik accuses, not missing the slight hesitation in Charles’ voice when he says Emma’s name. “I know perfectly well that you don’t agree with my ideas about the continuation of Shaw’s existence, and that you would never use Cerebro to find him.”

“On the contrary, I want very much to find him,” Charles says.

Erik’s shock slices through him like an icy blade.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still do not believe that killing him is the right course of action, or that it will bring you the peace you still so desperately crave,” Charles continues. “However, he cannot be allowed to remain at large, I can at least see _that_. And there are other ways of neutralising him, you know.”

Erik knows instantly what Charles means. And it is something he never thought he would see Charles contemplate. Charles, who holds his power sacrosanct, something to be used for good, not evil.

Charles smiles a crooked smile. “I’ve surprised you,” he says. “But I find, my friend, that not even I can remain unaffected after what’s been done to me.”

It’s the most direct allusion Charles has made to what happened to him in weeks, and it brings Erik back to his real reason for wanting to talk to Charles.

“All right, say you could get Cerebro rebuilt,” he says, ignoring Charles’ raised eyebrow at his apparent capitulation. “Do you think you’re fit to use it?”

“You may have noticed some improvements in my state of mind lately,” Charles points out.

“You are comfortable with us again, yes?” Erik replies. “But what about when you’re exposed to hundreds of minds? Thousands? You might even come into contact with _her_ again.” He knows he’s being blunt, insensitive even, but he can’t help it. He’s not proud of himself, but it’s born of a frustration even deeper than apparently Erik himself had realised.

“I am not some scared little child, Erik,” Charles snaps. “All right, I will never forget what she did, but I refuse to run away. I refuse to _hide_ any more.”

And right then, Erik realises just how deep Charles’ fear had been. Despite Erik’s reassurance, he had still feared his ability to hurt other people. He had still feared _himself_.

Erik feels like the meanest creature ever to crawl across the face of the Earth.

Charles finally seems to cotton on to the fact that there is another issue in play here (and perhaps he hadn’t know _exactly_ what Erik was thinking when he first appeared, after all). “Erik,” he says softly, “what is all this _really_ about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Erik tells him, putting his own hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against Charles scrutiny.

“I don’t need you to _tell_ me, you know,” Charles says lightly, although with a hint of steel in his voice.

Erik knows Charles will never follow through on the implied threat, but still, something about his words compels Erik to speak, however unwillingly.

“We’ve all noticed you getting back to your old self,” Erik mutters in a low voice. “But you’ve never told me how _much_ you’ve improved. You didn’t…you haven’t…”

He’s well aware that he’s coming off as sulky and selfish, more concerned with his own gratification than Charles’ well being, but that’s the other thing about the last few weeks. Not being able to touch, except in the most casual way, not being able to be with Charles _that_ way, has been driving him crazy. They awoke something, in that place inside both their heads, and try as he might, as much as he’s tried to behave perfectly normally, like Charles asked, he hasn’t been able to put it completely back to sleep.

And now, as self-pitying as it sounds, he feels like Charles has been holding out on him, for reasons that Erik can’t quite fathom, unless…

“Oh,” says Charles, a look of understanding dawning on his face. Although how he’s managed to extract any meaning at all from Erik’s stuttering words is beyond Erik – perhaps his _is_ reading Erik’s mind, after all.

Rather surprisingly, Erik finds he doesn’t mind if Charles is – he needs them to be on the same page right now, and if that’s the easiest way to achieve it, then so be it.

“If you don’t want…any more,” Erik begins again lamely. He’s not good at this – the whole situation is so far outside his realm of experience that it might as well be on another planet. _This_ is why he doesn’t allow himself to get tangled up in his emotions. They’re messy and frustrating, and pretty much incomprehensible to him most of the time.

Charles laughs. Erik starts to bristle – he _won’t_ be laughed at – until he detects the heavy dose of relief in the sound.

“Oh, _Erik_ ,” Charles says. “I thought _you_ didn’t want any more.”

It takes Erik less than three strides to carry him to Charles, and before he really realises it his hands are around Charles’ upper arms, holding them tightly as he glares down into Charles’s face. “What could _possibly_ make you think that?” he grits out. Dimly, he is aware that physical intimidation probably isn’t the best course of action to take towards someone who has recently been tortured, and somewhere in the back of his mind he is ashamed of resorting to it.

But he can’t seem to stop himself.

However, Charles’ seems barely to notice Erik’s grip on him. He stares back at Erik, eyes wide and impossibly blue, lips parted as he breathes a little heavier than normal.

“You…you never _did_ anything, Erik. Nothing! It was like it never happened, and we were still the same as we were before. I thought…I thought you’d had second thoughts.”

“Mein gott, Charles!” Erik exclaims, slipping in his native tongue in his agitation. “You said you needed space! I was respecting your wishes, damn it!”

He doesn’t shake Charles, but it’s a near thing. “You really are helpless without your telepathy, aren’t you?” he asks.

But he doesn’t allow Charles to answer what is a rhetorical question anyway. Instead he pulls Charles forward and up, kissing him ferociously, crushing the other man to him as Charles bends backwards slightly under the pressure.

Approximately five seconds later, Erik realises he’s gone too far. Charles doesn’t fall when Erik lets go of him suddenly, reeling backwards in horror, but it’s a near thing. He does stumble, though, and it takes him a moment to regain his balance.

“Charles…” Erik chokes out. “I’m sorry…I…after everything…I shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Charles interrupts, eyes blazing. “Don’t even _think_ about comparing yourself to them, Erik.”

Now it is he who comes to Erik, and Erik has to fight not to lurch backward again as Charles steps inside his personal space.

“You’re right,” Charles says. “I _am_ helpless without my telepathy. _Especially_ when it comes to you, it seems.” He reaches out and touches one finger to Erik’s lips, stroking along the bottom one gently. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Erik, and I’m sorry – you have _no_ idea how sorry – that I interpreted it wrongly. But you will never, _ever_ apologise for this again, do you understand me?”

But it seems his question is rhetorical as well, as his lips are back on Erik’s before Erik can even think about answering.

It takes him a moment – a moment of fear and shame battling with desire and _want_ – before he starts kissing Charles back, hands sliding around Charles’ slighter frame this time, one settling in the small of his back while the other curls around the nape of his neck, fingers pushing up into Charles’ hair, pressing and tilting until Charles’ head is at the perfect angle for Erik to plunder his mouth.

Charles, however, seems well satisfied with this answer, as he makes a pleased sound low in his throat – happy, apparently, to be manhandled by Erik.

All the metal in the room suddenly leaps into sharper focus. It’s positively _humming_ , and Charles breaks away to laugh delightedly.

“Why, Erik, I do believe you are losing some of your famed self-control!”

Erik immediately reins himself in. The metal settles again, and he sees the understanding that flashes in Charles’ eyes. Erik’s allowed himself too many lapses in his control this evening – he won’t allow himself another. Not in _that_ way, at any rate.

Then Charles’ expression turns a little speculative, and a little mischievous. At such close quarters Erik can see every nuance of it, and he’s fairly sure he doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know what Charles is going to say next.

“Perhaps we should adjourn to a more comfortable location, my friend,” Charles suggests. “One with a bed, maybe?”

 _Are you sure?_ Erik thinks instantly, although he doesn’t say it.

“Yes, Erik, I’m sure,” Charles replies, and then blushes faintly when he realises he’s betrayed himself. “You did project that one rather strongly,” he says defensively.

“It’s fine, Charles.” _It’s more than fine._

Then, reluctantly (if he could do this without letting go of Charles, he would), he disentangles himself from Charles, steps back, and makes a sweeping gesture towards the door. “Lead the way.”

Charles smiles and does so.

*~*~*~*~*

The only person they see on the way upstairs is Raven. She can’t know what’s going on – neither of them has ever told any of the others about the exact nature of what Emma Frost’s machinations led to – but unless Erik’s imagination has suddenly become very much more developed, she gives them an approving look as they pass her by in the corridor, and adds a small nod for Erik’s benefit when Charles can’t see.

Erik nods back, and then refocuses his attention on Charles again in time to follow the other man into his bedroom, and lend a hand with the closing of the door with just the smallest pulse of his power.

The click of the lock has barely died away before he finds himself with an armful of Charles Xavier again.

“Now, where were we?” Charles says, smiling impishly.

Erik bows his head to Charles’ upturned face – how can he not? – but at the same time thinks, _I thought you mentioned something about a bed?_

He can see the bed in question out of the corner of his eye, large and inviting, and several ideas about what he could do to Charles on that bed flash through his head in quick succession.

He hadn’t thought it was possible for a mind to stutter in the same way that a voice can, but there’s no other way to describe the response he receives from Charles.

 _A little warning next time, Erik_ , he hears a moment later.

Erik sends the images again, deliberately, and feel Charles’ mental laugh, even as they continue to kiss.

 _I suppose I deserved that. Although, for the record, I would like to do all of those things._

Right now, Erik would settle for just one of them in particular. He constructs the image carefully, in glorious technicolour, and then pushes it towards Charles.

Charles wrenches his mouth away from Erik’s to gasp, “God, Erik, _yes_. Definitely that…” Apparently mental communication just won’t cut it under the circumstances.

His words send a spike of arousal through Erik, and suddenly just kissing won’t quite cut it either.

Carefully, he unfurls his power just enough to get a grasp on every piece of metal in Charles’ clothing, and sets to work.

Charles becomes aware of the belt first, as it slides smoothly through the loops on his pants. “Cheater!” he exclaims.

Erik merely smirks, and continues, hands helping in the areas where, annoyingly, there is no metal present.

It doesn’t take long before Charles is naked, whereupon he starts pouting at the fact that Erik is very much not so. He reaches for Erik, but Erik holds up a hand to stop him – wishing that he’d left Charles’ watch on his wrist, to help him out.

But for a wonder, Charles does stop, and then watches eagerly as Erik swiftly strips off his own clothing. Erik takes advantage of Charles’ momentary distraction to bear them both down to the bed, ending up partially sprawled over Charles.

He’s wondered what it would be like, to touch Charles’ naked body for the first time – really touch, as opposed to being fooled into thinking he was.

He quickly discovers there’s no comparison. The Charles inside his head had felt real at the time, but the _real_ Charles is…better. More solid, more present, more…everything.

Erik wants to touch him everywhere.

“Erik?”

Erik blinks and realises he has been running his fingers across Charles’ skin, up and down his body from his shoulder to his hip. For how long he isn’t quite sure, but he’d be happy to do it until he’s memorised every inch of Charles.

“Erik.” There is a hint of laughter in Charles’ voice now, and Erik suddenly notices the tiny twitch Charles makes every time his fingertips brush across the curve of his waist.

So Charles is ticklish. Erik files that one away for later use, and then smiles as he tilts his head to look into Charles eyes. “Yes, Charles?”

“Much as, at another time, I would be perfectly happy to lie here and let you worship me with your hands…” There’s a slightly smug twinkle in Charles’ eye that Erik can’t find it in himself to be annoyed by, because damn it, he _does_ want to do that at some point. “I don’t think I can wait much longer, Erik.”

 _What do you want?_ Erik asks silently, because he needs Charles to say it, just once more, and needs Charles to say it in a way that only Charles can.

 _I want you, Erik. Just you. Please._

Erik kisses him fiercely, shifting himself just enough to bump his hip against Charles’ cock, so far untouched, but just as impatient as the rest of Charles is. He feels the shiver that goes through Charles body, and suddenly Erik can’t wait any longer either.

“Do you have…?” he asks, the question unfinished as Charles instantly waves towards the cabinet standing beside the bed.

Erik retrieves the pot of lubricant, and then slides down the bed, bestowing the odd kiss on Charles’ pale, smooth skin as he goes, eliciting a few more of those shivers, and some quiet gasps that he thinks he might become addicted to the sound of.

“Spread you legs a little for me, liebling,” he says quietly, and Charles does so immediately. He’s gazing at Erik with calm and trusting eyes, despite the hints of desperation Erik can feel bleeding out of him, escaping around his shields.

Part of him would like to destroy those shields, shatter them utterly until Charles’ head is full of Erik, and only Erik. But he knows that now is not the right time for that. Despite his improvement over the past weeks, Charles still _needs_ those shields. He needs to retain his control, just like Erik does. He needs to prove that he _can_.

Erik can understand that, and so he will give Charles what he can, tonight, knowing that right now it will be more than enough.

“I won’t hurt you, Charles,” Erik tells him, as he slides his hand under Charles’ knee, pulling his leg up slightly, exposing him to Erik’s gaze.

 _I know. Please, Erik._

Charles gasps again as one of Erik’s long fingers slides into him, slick and slow and exploratory.

“Charles?”

 _Feels good. More, please._

Erik can’t help but be amused that Charles can still remember his manners at a time like this. However, he doesn’t fulfil Charles’ request, not yet. His own desperation more than matches Charles’, but he’s determined to do this right. He’s determined to do this _his_ way, to prove to Charles that he has free will in this, that he’s _always_ had free will in this. To erase that last shred of doubt that he knows Charles is still harbouring, despite Erik’s assurances.

Above all, he wants to make this good for Charles.

He presses deeper, searching until he finds that spot that turns Charles’ shivers into full-blown shudders, and makes him squeeze he eyes shut against the sudden wash of pleasure.

“Erik…”

Erik gives him more this time, although perhaps not in the way Charles had expected, until Charles’ voice cracks on his name, and his desperation is now small waves lapping at the beaches of Erik’s mind.

Erik adds another finger without waiting for a repeat of Charles’ demand, and sees Charles’ breath hitch at the stretch.

“Charles?” he demands again.

“Yes…” _I’m all right, Erik. I won’t break, you know._

Erik stamps very firmly on the sudden image that crosses his mind of a _very_ broken Charles, restrained and bound by Shaw and Emma Frost. That memory has no place here, and he won’t let it find one.

Charles doesn’t seem to have been aware of Erik’s moment of distraction, thank god, and Erik reapplies himself to the task at hand – namely, reducing Charles to a quivering, whimpering mess. He twists and scissors his fingers gently, until he’s sure that Charles can take a third, and then repeats every action until Charles’ desperation becomes a rising tide that threatens to engulf them both.

He pulls Charles’ leg a little higher, and feels the other one hook around him as he shuffles forward. “Ready, Charles?”

 _Yes, Erik…_

The welcoming heat of Charles’ body is almost enough to undo him straight away, and only his iron will, honed over years, keeps everything at bay, and allows him to press forward until he is fully sheathed.

Charles’ breath escapes him in a long, wavering moan, and hands that had previously been fisted in the sheets lift and reach forward for Erik, scrabbling at thin air when they realise that their target is just too far away.

But Erik cannot deny Charles this, not now. Charles’ other leg curls around Erik’s hip, holding Erik in pace between his thighs as he drops forward into Charles’ space, his own hands on either side of Charles’ shoulders, propping him up until Charles grabs him and pulls him down the rest of the way into an uncoordinated, messy, _perfect_ kiss.

This position must be hell on Charles’s back, canted up at the hips as he is. And flush against Charles’ body, Erik can do nothing more than rock shallowly into Charles, with no power behind his thrusts.

But right now he is as unwilling to let go as Charles is. He can’t wrap his arms around Charles as Charles’ are around him, but he can cup Charles face with his hand as he kisses him, and he can reach back and grip Charles’ thigh with the other, holding him in place as he flexes his hips, pressing inwards as much as he can.

Erik feels connected in a way he’s never experienced before, and it’s not until he feels that thought reflected back at him that he realises that Charles has slid right into his mind.

His touch is tentative, and most of his shields are still up – this is not all of Charles, by any means. But Erik will take what he can get, for now, and tries, in his own slightly clumsy way, to strengthen their connection, welcoming Charles in and wrapping him in warmth and affection and want.

It’s not something he could even have conceived of doing, just a few short months ago, but now he wonders why he resisted so much.

 _Erik, Erik, Erik…_

 _Charles…_

 _Want you._

Charles’ grip on him lessens, just enough to let Erik push himself back up on to his hands again, but no further away than that. He doesn’t want to lose Charles’ touch. Not _any_ of it.

Charles’ lips part in a silent ‘O’ of reaction at the first proper thrust from Erik. The backwash of pleasure in Erik’s mind brings an exultant smile to Erik’s face, and he does it again, and again, and again, wanting it never to end at the same time that he wants to see Charles’ face when he finally comes apart.

 _Want you, Charles. Need you…_

 _Yes, Erik, yes…_

The only warning Erik gets of Charles’ climax is when Charles reels him in again for another kiss, Erik’s rhythm faltering, but it hardly matters as he feels the flashbomb of Charles’ orgasm behind his eyes, a catalyst for his own that he gasps into Charles’ mouth.

They don’t disentangle themselves for a while, and even when Erik finally does move, shifting himself off Charles before he crushes the other man, Charles moves with him, curling up against Erik, heedless of the sticky, sweaty mess they are in.

Erik is perfectly fine with this – he doesn’t want to separate yet either.

“All right, Charles?” Erik says quietly, needing to ask the question despite the contentment he can feel emanating from Charles.

“More than all right, my friend,” Charles murmurs back.

And then Charles is in his head again (not that he had actually left, as yet), drawing him close, and Erik feels something – something _deliberate_ , as if Charles has brought him to a door and then opened it to show him the room inside – and suddenly the entire force of Charles affection for him is flowing around them and over them, and Erik has to close his eyes against it, tightening his hold on Charles as if he never wants to let go.

Charles is still healing – he still has his shields, still has parts of himself that he is reluctant to let free, aspects of his power he is reluctant to use – but Erik knows what Charles is giving him, right here and now, and he is overwhelmed by it.

He tilts Charles’ head up on the pillow, and leans in to give him the gentlest of kisses. All he can do is try and give back, as much as he can.

*~*~*~*~*

Epilogue: _Six months later…_

It’s amazing, Erik reflects, what you can achieve if you have a practically inexhaustible supply of money, the ability to make people forget they ever sold you several tons of sheet metal, and a friend who can manipulate said metal into a perfect sphere without even breaking a sweat.

Hank had told them that the first Cerebro had been years in development, the idea originally mooted before he had even joined the CIA. But the second generation has taken less than half a year to bring to fruition, and that’s even with all the improvements Hank had been able to implement.

Charles stands on the small podium in the centre of the space – there’s a chair behind him, but he’s declined to use it, claiming that remaining upright helps him to concentrate better. Hank is flitting around behind him at the consoles, checking and double-checking that everything is in order, while Erik stands in front, staring up at Charles as he lowers the helmet that is the heart of Cerebro on to his head.

Like everything about this incarnation of Cerebro, the helmet is more sophisticated – lighter, less clumsy, and slightly less ridiculous-looking. In fact, it reminds Erik rather uncomfortably of the suppressor that Shaw had forced Charles to wear.

He tries not to dwell on that, instead saying lightly, “I stand by my original assessment, Charles. You really do make an adorable lab rat.”

But there must be something in his voice that betrays his worry, because Charles arches an eyebrow and simply replies, “I’ll be fine, Erik.”

Which he can’t know for sure, of course. No doubt Shaw will be wearing his helmet again, so Charles will not be able to find him, even with the aid of Cerebro. But there is still Emma Frost, who at Shaw’s behest hooked her mental claws into Charles so deeply that he may not ever be quite the same again. If she senses Charles’ presence, there’s no telling what she might do. What Shaw might have her do.

“Erik.” Charles places his hand on top of Erik’s where it rests on the railing that surrounds the podium, and Erik suddenly realises that the metal beneath his fingers has warped slightly under his touch.

“I have to do this, Erik,” Charles says quietly. “I _need_ to do this. We need to find more mutants, and the chances of coming across _her_ are very slim indeed.”

“Ready, Professor?” Hank asks, before Erik can say anything else.

Charles smiles at him, and Erik takes a deep breath and nods. “Just be careful, Charles.”

“Aren’t I always?”

Erik remembers a man who dived from a ship into a churning black sea to rescue a complete stranger, a man who would not abandon a friend consumed by his obsession with revenge, a man who places his trust – his love – in someone like Erik.

“Be careful,” he repeats. “I’ll be here.”

Charles squeezes his hand and smiles again. “I know you will, Erik.”

Then he calls over his shoulder, “I’m ready, Hank,” and Cerebro lights up the world around them.


End file.
